Makeshift
by nili-roshan
Summary: PD/SS. Sevitus. Petunia always loved Severus; it's what caused the falling out between her Lily and what ultimately shaped her life. Later, when he is asked to visit Harry summer after fifth year, Severus finds himself drawn into the role of patriarch to a makeshift family- one which he is determined to keep from suffering the way he did as a child. About abuse.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Harry could not decide if Uncle Vernon when drunk or hung-over was worse. His uncle's drinking problem was relatively knew- it started around the beginning of summer,when Aunt Marge was in a car crash and fell into a coma which she had yet to wake from. This is what occupied Harry's mind for the better part of the break (it was nearly half way through now) when what he should have been thinking of was Sirius; though the anguish he felt thinking about the loss of his godfather was almost unbearable Harry felt he deserved it. If Harry's penance of never forgetting Sirius Black was something he could not always pay, then there was Uncle Vernon's beatings. He was just as deserving of that form of punishment as any other, Harry thought.

Vernon had binge-drinkd and had passed out on the sofa, unbeknownst to Harry. When the boy-who-lived awoke that morning in the cupboard under the stairs, where he had been moved again as per his uncle, Harry had immediately slipped out and gone to the downstairs washroom as was his usual routine, tiptoeing silently through the halls believing his family to be upstairs, in bed, sleeping- which would turn out to be true for what was only one of three Dursleys. Harry heard someone start the tap running in the upstairs bathroom, and immediately he knew it to be Aunt Petunia. She and Harry were the two early risers of the lot, and it could very well have been, Harry often mused, the only thing that they had in common. _That_ and the occasional slapping around Uncle Vernon gave them which was, as mentioned, a fairly new development... Uncle Vernon had never laid a hand on Petunia in all the time they had been married, but she had tried to reason with him while he was in one of his drunken rages- tried to reason with a totally irrational Vernon, more aggressive than she had ever seen him before- and when Petunia had pushed him too far, he had pushed her right back, only he had pushed her right into the sharp corner of the coffee table, which seemed to open the floodgates... It was not to be the last time he did this to her. One time he had shoved Petunia, and she had gone down over the patio-door track and had badly sprained her ankle and scraped her arm on the cement when she landed outside of the house. Harry and Dudley had watched, horrified by the fearful expression in Petunia's wide glassy eyes as she tried to hold back wrenching sobs. That had been less than a week ago, and Vernon continued on like nothing was wrong. Petunia was still limping ever so slightly, scabs on her arm, and she was also sporting a split lip from a time before that when Vernon had backhanded her.

Harry flushed the toilet when he was done relieving himself, wincing at the obnoxious noise it made, and then quickly washed his hands and face, brushing his teeth, before escaping to the kitchen for a quick bite to eat... This was really his only opportunity to get anything substantial inside of him anymore. Vernon would rarely let him eat at all now, unless it was leftover food Harry took from the garbage (and never before it had been in the garbage would Vernon allow him to have it). Luckily Harry never had to worry too much about eating in the mornings. Petunia had found him eating twice now; the first time he had looked up at her, horrified, but she had simply returned him a prolonged blank stare and then moved on with her morning. It had taken Harry a full minute to recover before he resumed eating his toast. His aunt didn't seem to mind him eating in the morning as long as he cleaned up before Vernon came down- that is, as long as Vernon never knew; that first time she had caught him he had left his plate in the sink to be washed with all the others after he had prepared breakfast for them as well, but Petunia had silently moved to the kitchen sink and washed, dried, and replaced the plate before Vernon ever stirred. This was her way of teaching Harry. She would do something without word and expect him to learn by example, which by this point he had no problem with; when he was younger her instructions were always, or as needed, accompanied by a stern look that clearly stated 'Pay attention, boy.' Harry now always ate quietly in the morning, cleaning and replacing all his used dishes before anyone was the wiser, except that on this day, Vernon, sleeping downstairs, had been roused by the flushing of the toilet, and while the use of the toilet may not have alarmed him (after all withholding food was one thing... withholding bathroom privileges meant that not only would the boy be a disgrace to his house and home, he would be a _filthy_ disgrace); it was when he first smelled, then heard the toaster go off, that he felt his anger bubble and boil to just below the surface- a rather unpleasant way to be woken in the morning, head pounding with a raging hangover as it was.

Harry was already biting into his toast, moving towards the kitchen table, when he heard the creaking of the sofa in the next room over, his heart stopping for a second, his chewing, his breathing, his moving- his whole _being_ stopping for a second, as he listened. Had Aunt Petunia come down without his noticing?

_No._

Through the silence he heard the curtain retracting on its runner and the shower coming on upstairs. Harry's heart then started to pound; when Uncle Vernon appeared in the doorway to the kitchen he was not taken off guard. He found himself backing up until he was just half a foot from the wall behind him.

Vernon's face was twisted into red fury, and the bubbling, boiling anger that was building pressure inside of him finally burst in a volcanic explosion and Dursley yelled, "BOY!"

Harry winced, his shoulders hunching toward his ears, and his plate of toast, held loosely in front of his chest like a would-be-shield, was promptly whipped from him and thrown on the ground; Harry watched wide-eyed first as the plate smashed, then as his uncle advanced on him. He was almost too afraid to talk, but he knew there was no other way to prevent or even _stall_ the inevitable: Vernon beating him.

"I'm sorry, sir. I swear I won't do it again-"

Vernon Dursley snarled viciously as he reached out and grabbed a fistful of Harry's wild hair painfully and slammed the small boy back into the wall behind him; his hopeful plea had had the opposite effect it seemed. Harry, through the sharp screaming pain in the back of his head, heard the distant sound of cracking as the glass in the picture frame behind him gave way and cut the back of his head, falling in pieces to the floor around his feet. He reached a violently shaking hand behind him to feel his fingers wetting in warm blood. His vision was white around the edges as he drew his hand to his front, and he could just make out his red fingertips, and then the frame slipped out from behind him and crashed to the floor, too, before Uncle Vernon yanked his face up to look him in the eye. He leaned towards Harry.

"_Who said you could eat my food!_" he shouted in Harry's face, spittle flying at the boy, making him squint his eyes (despite that he was wearing glasses) almost as much as Vernon's squinted, _his _face contorting in delirious rage.

"N-No one, Uncle Vernon," Harry agreed and complied. "I won't do it again."

"_I want that toast and butter back, boy,_" Vernon said maliciously, and Harry saw from the bottom corner of his eye his uncle's hand pulling into a tight fist and his arm drawing back; he punched Harry hard in the stomach so that he found himself doubled over in pain, gagging and coughing and wheezing, and letting himself sink to the kitchen floor in and among the broken glass, as he tried to catch his breath.

Harry tried to hold it in, but it briefly registered with him that his uncle had probably intended for him to lose his stomach, and so when Vernon kicked him in the belly next, he did not restrain himself from being sick right there on the kitchen floor, though his stomach was already so empty that vomiting only hurt him more and filled his mouth with the bitter taste of bile.

Vernon looked down in disgust. "Clean up your mess!" he spat, before leaving Harry alone, laying on the floor, his cheek pressed into a piece of glass while he heaved, a tear leaking from the corner of one of his straining eyes; he could feel them bulging out with the hits he had taken to the stomach and then with the force of vomiting. He squeezed them shut as tight as he could.

Meanwhile upstairs Dudley lay in bed, frozen, as he listened to the glass breaking and the cries of his cousin, and he wondered when his father had finally crossed the line because he _had_. Was it when he had hit his mother for the first time? Or was it when he had hit Harry for the first time? And (maybe more importantly, he thought) when exactly had things changed from just picking on Harry to really abusing him? Maybe it was when his father's _intentions_ had changed: when Marge was in the accident, when he was reprimanded at work, when he started drinking? But Dudley couldn't help but wonder if _any_ type of cruelty was acceptable anymore- most especially if the line between giving someone a rough time and abusing them was too blurry to be clear, which he was now certain it was. After all, he had bullied Harry as kid, and, no, it wasn't right, but he had been raised to believe it was; Dudley was just glad that he had seen the error of his ways. The thought that he could be- or could_ have_ _become-_ something like his father scared him and disgusted him. He was so angry he sometimes thought it would feel good to hit Harry and his mother, too, just for allowing this to happen to them, for making him witness their abuse, powerless to do anything as he was (that thought scared him more than anything). He was always scared and angry and so unbearably frustrated that when he started to cry he wasn't at all surprised. He simply lay in his bed sobbing silently with the covers pulled thick around him as he heard his father turn the telly on below, heard Harry move in the tinkling of the broken glass, and heard his mother gasping, too, in the bathroom which shared a wall with his bedroom.

Petunia struggled to get into the tub, after having hurt her ankle and leg- after _Vernon _had hurt her ankle and leg.

She had heard him yelling at Harry, and she had heard the glass breaking, but she could not find the courage to put on her robe and go down in defense of the boy, unsuspectingly preparing a simple breakfast of toast as he did most days; it was all he got anymore, and Petunia could see him withering away before her eyes. She could see her whole family withering away. It was Harry Potter's fault (she liked to think so even though she knew it to be an utter fallacy). It was that wretched boy's fault, she screamed in her head, her chest burning inside and skin burning on the outside from the scorching hot water. She was starting to turn red, in fact- steam billowed over the shower curtain top and fogged up the bathroom and the mirror, the pink walls bleeding condensation- but she couldn't feel the pain of it. All she could think was, why couldn't she keep her family together? Why couldn't she be better, do better? And, _why wasn't she enough?_ She was so pathetic, she thought, and she was resigned, defeated, and ashamed of herself, disgusted with herself. She didn't know how it had come to this, this state of self-loathing. She'd united with Vernon in his persecution of magic (it hadn't been that hard considering everything that had happened in her childhood). She'd sacrificed her nephew to keep him happy, but even that wasn't enough anymore. She had made a horrible mistake with Vernon and Harry... Petunia dug her nails into her skin as she clutched herself thinking back on how repulsed she was when Vernon had pushed her the first time, and she had looked up to see Dudley so scared, and Harry- her poor nephew (is that what it had been like for him all along?)- looking at her with sad, shocked, and pitying eyes; she'd looked back at them with her own eyes full of terror, she knew, though it wasn't for what Vernon had done, but for what she had allowed to happen, as every realization she'd ever needed came crashing down on her.

_Not anymore, _Petunia thought to herself. She couldn't do this anymore.

Harry usually waited for his aunt to come downstairs to direct him before starting breakfast, but today he did not wait. When Petunia came down at five-past-eight, Harry had already cleaned the kitchen, cleaned himself up, had started toasting bread in the oven- this time for the Dursleys- and was cooking bacon in one pan and eggs in another. Petunia, without thinking, went out and retrieved the morning paper, going to the kitchen and laying it on the table by Vernon's chair, before drawing plates and cutlery to set the table with. She silently reprimanded herself for gathering the paper, having come to the resolve in the shower moments before to take back her power, feeling like she had really nothing of her dignity left to lose. So instead, pausing with her hand in the kitchen cupboard next to the fridge, she took _four_ sets of dishes to set the table- one extra set for Harry; she was determined he would have breakfast this morning, whether Vernon liked it or not.

Harry caught his aunt removing an extra setting's worth of dishes and eyed her worriedly as she set the table. She refused to meet his eyes, though, and Harry was wondering if he should say something to her, to plead with her not to do this- if she was actually doing what he thought she was doing- but before he could say anything Vernon was walking into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee that Harry had prepared and then sat at the table reading the paper, oblivious to the extra setting while his aunt went to the bottom of the stairs to call for Dudley.

Harry could feel his muscles winding tight around his stiff bones, his body coiled into one tense knot, as stress intertwined itself with every thread of him. This was his usual state of being over the summer, and it was exhausting. He saw the same stress in each of the Dursleys' rigid frames now, and wondered how anybody- including himself- lived like this; it was torturous to always be on edge, to always be wary and careful and even apprehensive.

_Yet if there was just something he could do to make Uncle Vernon happy..._

A burnt smell wafted to Harry's nose, and he looked down to see the bacon had burned on the one side, stopping completely for the second time that morning as he realized his mistake, giving his uncle yet another reason to be angry with him.

Harry forced himself to turn towards his aunt as she came back into the kitchen, a pleading look in his eyes as he silently conveyed what had happened, desperately hoping she could find a work around. Petunia looked at him and then glanced at Vernon worriedly who was already sniffing the air carefully. He glared at Harry.

"Boy, if you've wasted anymore of my food..." Vernon threatened as he stood up.

Harry's heart was pounding so hard now that his head was beginning to throb unbearably as if he had just awoken from a night spent inside a raging Voldemort's head. Up until that point he had been able to keep from doing so, but then he backed up.

"Please," he tried in a sincere voice, his throat aching. _He was so tired._

Vernon stepped forward at the same time Petunia did.

"Leave him alone, Vernon," she said in a quiet tone, standing protectively in front of Harry.

Vernon sneered.

"_You best get out of my way, woman_."

Harry could see Petunia trembling in front of him, her small hands clenched into fists at her side, but her voice was still firm. "No," she said.

"_What!_" Vernon yelled in her face, and she leaned away from him ever so slightly, but otherwise she held her ground.

"I said leave him alone!" Petunia screamed.

"_You bitch!_" Vernon yelled, his fist drawing back; Petunia recoiled in anticipation of the strike towards Harry, forgotten behind her.

"Stop it!" Dudley yelled from the kitchen doorway suddenly. His eyes were red as if he had cried, more than one person noted.

"_Dad!_" he pleaded when his parents and Harry merely stared at him taken aback as they were.

"Stay out of this, Dudley," Vernon said, turning back to Harry and his aunt.

And then the door bell rang and, as if police sirens had gone off outside their home, everyone froze, dead silence disrupted only by the frantic sizzling of bacon and eggs and an ominous silence coming from the door, as if a swat team were about to burst in, shouting and firing their arms in a frenzy of violent activity.

Vernon slowly lowered his fist while Petunia gradually moved away from her position in front of Harry, not taking her eyes off of Vernon (and Vernon not taking his eyes off her) until she was passing Dudley into the hallway.

Vernon was seated at the table once more, almost as if nothing had been amiss except for the fact that he wore a black scowl; Harry knew he was just waiting for Petunia to return before he finished what had been started. Dudley stood in the doorway wringing his pajama top in his hands. Harry found himself too stunned after what had happened to feel the anxiety that they were caught (something he seemed to always be experiencing anxiety over- unbearably so on the occasions when the phone rang or someone was at the door, as was presently the case); Harry was too stunned to even feel stress or fear over what was going to happen when Petunia finally did get rid of this caller they had and she returned to the kitchen. He was too shocked. Harry wondered deliriously what could have possibly prompted his aunt to intervene, to stand up to her raging husband- _for him?_

Did Aunt Petunia actually care about him?

And for Dudley to stand up to his father, too, for the first time... Harry looked at his cousin appraisingly then, and realized how much he had changed since last year. He wasn't cruel like he used to be. He looked like he was at his breaking point- he had lost a lot of weight, and carried a certain fragility about him, as if all he desired was a truce, some reprieve.

Harry could relate to that.

Meanwhile, Petunia stood in the hallway with her hand on the door knob for a prolonged moment, breathing deep and steady; then she wrenched the door open hoping that if she had not gathered her wits by this time that she would when she met whoever was at her door.

Indeed, that is precisely what occurred.

An imposing figure stood in her doorway: a strong body both physically and magically (not to mention mentally) dressed in black attire which, Petunia thought with an old but familiar amusement, was right fit for a funeral, dark and formal; this paired with boots which would have looked like American army boots were they only in camo... And, really, it didn't surprise her at all to see him dressed the way he was even on a comfortable July morning like this one. Lanky black hair hung around his face with the same bent nose, having been broken twice as she recalled. Meanwhile, eyes she privately considered beautiful met her own; she recollected the way they turned up on the rare occasion he sincerely smiled (_which was always for Lily_), and how expressive they were if you knew him well enough. How many people knew that about him- how many people knew him well enough to know that? _Eyes are the window to the soul,_ she'd told Lily years ago at the height of her infatuation; she'd wanted to be the only one to capable of reading Severus's tells, and it had certainly been true then, even after she'd given Lily the hint when her sister had probed her about how she always knew what Severus was thinking and feeling.

"Petunia," he greeted casually, and his baritone voice rolled over her like a midsummer's breeze or maybe it rolled over her _with _the midsummer's breeze out of doors; either way she felt it on her skin, comforting her with warm strength, while an old familiar smell of spices and herbs filled her mind and clouded out the horror she had just be experiencing in her home and kitchen, bringing back happy childhood memories.

Of course she would never tell him what he did to her, or that even after all these years she was happy to see him again, or that she often thought about him- Harry's potions professor. She had even on occasion, while Harry was otherwise occupied, found herself in his bedroom over the past summers, flipping through his potions homework looking for any trace of the man before her; all she ever found was scathing and impersonal remarks written in the columns of Harry's paper (thought there was something like humor about it, that she had no doubt was fully intentional and simply misunderstood by nearly all but Severus himself with his strange and often dark sense of humor).

"Severus," she said instead, equally as casual.

"You look well," he said sarcastically albeit gently; Petunia would have bristled, but then his gaze pointedly dropped to her split lip. Instead of bristling she felt her eyes widen involuntarily, and she drew a sharp intake of breath between slightly parted lips, her hand flying up to cover her mouth, however the damage was done, she knew.

"Who did that to you?" he asked, in a threatening tone (_as if he cared at all_), to her great disdain.

"No one did this to me," she replied in mock scorn. "I tripped and fell." She lied with ease- perhaps _too_ much ease. She'd had to do it a couple of times now (mostly to her friends) and she was getting good at it.

His eyes narrowed, however.

"Come now, 'Tunia. You don't expect me to believe that do you?" his voice was deadly soft, and the use of her childhood nickname had a shiver running down her spine, but again she concealed her reaction to him.

"_Come now, Severus._ You don't expect me to believe that you actually care, now do you?" she retorted bitingly.

Severus stared at her for a moment, calculating.

"I'm here for Potter," he said soon.

"He's sleeping," Petunia lied instantly.

"He can be woken," Severus countered just as swiftly.

Petunia clenched her jaw, and seeing no way out, she relinquished.

"Wait here," she told him, and then she moved to shut the door on Severus, however, he had raised a hand and was holding it open.

"I was told to check on him, his living conditions. I'll need to come in- with or without your cooperation, Petunia." Severus watched with keen interest as Petunia tensed, her hackles clearly raised.

She looked strikingly similar to how he had imagined her all these years. Her colouring was identical to Lily's: fair skin, green eyes, and auburn hair which appeared to be damp, presumably from showering, and which dangled around her face in thick waves, brushing her shoulders much the way Lily's had when she was younger and had worn it short. Her features were sharper than Lily's had ever been though, and she was still skinner than Lily had ever been. Skinnier, in fact, than she used to be, as he recalled, and skinny in a way that didn't look entirely healthy, either. He could see symptoms of unrest in her: her face had wrinkled somewhat, and she had dark circles under red eyes, as well... All this apart from the spilt lip, and the scrape on her arm that he could make out below the sleeve of her floral blouse, and- now that he was looking her up and down- wearing a knee-length khaki skirt he saw just above her yellow slippers one ankle looking somewhat swollen. He found himself frowning in concern.

Petunia, noticing his scrutiny, dropped her eyes to the ground and then raised them again in frustration. "We're busy this morning, Severus," she told him in an annoyed tone.

"If all is as it should be, this shouldn't take more than a few minutes," he said ostensibly.

Petunia racked her mind for a way out, but when none was forthcoming, she turned her thoughts to the possibility of Severus actually entering her home. Harry bore no visible injuries accept for the cut on his cheek (easily dismissed) and the cut on the back of his head which was fortuitously covered by his unruly hair; his other bruises were all covered by his oversized, hand-me-down clothing. Dudley, of course, was fine. Vernon looked normal as well, so long as Severus didn't note the stale smell of alcohol emanating from him or the fact that he was wearing wrinkled and dirty day-old clothing, though that was not really evidence of anything, either, then all would be well. Harry had cleaned up the mess that had been made this morning. In fact, Petunia was by this point convinced that they would look remarkably normal, sitting down to breakfast. She found herself praising fate that she had taken out an extra setting for Harry that morning of all mornings. If everyone would just play along everything should be fine, and she _knew_ they all would.

"Fine," Petunia said, raising her chin slightly. Severus smirked at that. Petunia was still an Evans- even if she had married that great oaf, Vernon; she had dignity and a healthy pride.

Severus stepped into the Dursley home and was lead down the hall by Petunia after she had reached around him to close the front door. Severus immediately began to appraise his surroundings. Nothing in particular caught his attention, but once they were situated in the kitchen, he was hard pressed to look everywhere at once so as not to miss any detail before it could be hidden or explained away: unbiased interpretations were critical in the act of observation; often he would find his first impression, his initial presumptions to be the right one, where following his intuition and the simplest of logics came the easiest. Influencing words or actions on behalf of the parties involved could be applied after the fact. Like Petunia lying about Potter sleeping...

There were four settings at the table where Dursley Senior sat, looking particularly hung over, drinking coffee and reading the paper. The hand that held the cup of coffee, Snape noted, was decorated with red knuckles, but he couldn't be certain if this was really of any significance. Dudley, the Dursley boy, had moved to the edge of the counter, and was looking worried and stressed; behind him there was a picture missing on the wall (a particularly saturated square of wallpaper the giveaway) which Severus found curious. Potter stood by the stove where there was a pan of eggs on one burner and pan of what looked to be burnt bacon on another burner, in another pan. He could not help but raised a brow at this- for several reasons. First, he was unaware Harry was able to cook, and why would he be? He was a teenage boy after all, and he was supposed to be the spoiled brat, the boy-who-lived. Second, Potter looked as if he had thinned even more, especially in his old, oversized muggle clothes- in fact, he looked completely dreadful altogether... A sickly pallor was punctuated by stark dark circles beneath hooded and reddened eyes, there was a nick on his cheek, his hair was dry and brittle looking, and Severus swore he could _see_ the weakness of the boy and the effort he was expending just to stand, his legs planted in a wider than normal stance for him (and, yes, it was something Severus noticed about people). Third- and this reinforced his conclusion that Potter was malnourished as he usually was upon his return to Hogwarts each year- there didn't seem to be enough food for everyone in the pans: three eggs, six strips of bacon, and three pieces of toast in the toaster.

"P-Professor Snape?" Potter stuttered, his voice sounding strained, "What are you doing here?" Severus' eyes narrowed; he had never known the boy to stutter.

"The Headmaster sent me, of course," he snapped sarcastically (_put him in his place_), "to report on your well being." It was true, the Headmaster had been concerned for Potter's welfare after the death of his godfather and tasked him- Severus- with this assessment the boys living conditions; Severus, though, was not sure which reason was Albus's greatest motivation for choosing _him_: his long standing wish that Severus reconcile with the boy (and therefore James Potter, particularly after the role he'd played in the death of Sirius Black), if it had to do with Severus's acquaintance with Petunia- whom he tried to deny he had any curiosity about, or perhaps if it had anything to do with the fact that Severus could be trusted to maintain his composure should something untoward be happening (or so Albus believed. He had experience with this sort of thing, after all) or, also, for the fact that Snape was especially adept in the art of persuasion... intimidation... just in case something _was_ happening- which did, indeed, seem to be the case.

"Why didn't Professor Dumbledore come himself?" Harry asked suspiciously, recovering from his stutter.

Severus didn't really know how to answer that; he certainly wasn't about to recount all the reasons he himself had considered, and so he was grateful when the Great Oaf butt in.

"_What the bloody hell do you think you're doing in my house?_"

Severus raised another curious eyebrow at this hostility and noted that Dudley had pushed himself against the wall, while Harry was growing visibly more tense.

"Exactly as I said, Dursley. I'm here for Potter."

"Well, then, you've seen the boy... He's alive-" Vernon smiled maliciously- "_so_ _get the hell out_."

Severus tsk-ed in response, turning to regard Petunia whose eyes were just a little bit wild, and said, "Potter, show me to your bedroom." Turning back, the Professor watched as the boy recoiled peculiarly at his words. Severus's- or Albus's- suspicions were being further validated with each passing moment, until finally he felt the beginnings of nausea twisting in his stomach.

Vernon began to chuckle darkly.

"Go on, boy. Show him your bedroom."

Harry looked to his aunt, with nowhere else _to_ turn. Humiliation awaited him in the hands of both men, but he'd much rather be humiliated by Vernon. Vernon didn't play a role in the misery that permeated the_ more important_ half of his life: the magical half.

Aunt Petunia looked shocked, and she gazed back at Harry for a long moment before tilting her heard ever so slightly (in a way that concealed her expression from Severus, in fact), and raising her eyes to the ceiling in a very particular direction she silently provided Harry with an escape: s_how him to Dudley's room._

"This way," Harry said hard to the professor, as he rounded him, led him down the hallway- nervously passing by the cupboard where he slept and spent a great deal of his time. He could hear his uncle call out to him from the kitchen, but he ignored it, dreading that his uncle wouldn't let him get away with this, that he would make sure the professor saw Harry's old cot in the small space he called his own. Instead he determinedly led Snape up the stairs and to the left thankfully, as his old bedroom- Dudley's old second bedroom- was to the _right_, and Harry didn't want Snape to see the locks on the door which had never been removed. Even though Harry had been moved to the cupboard again, rather than Dudley getting his second room back, Vernon had used it as storage, its main purpose to keep Harry's school things locked up and away from him.

He pushed open the door to Dudley's room to let Snape in.

It was messy, the bed was unkempt, and there were, the professor clearly noted, oversized clothes littering the floor, and there was also a computer on the desk, and a TV on the dresser.

"Tell me the truth, Potter. What's going on here?" he demanded, rounding on the boy.

"Sir?" Harry questioned taking a seat on the bed.

"I'm not stupid, Potter," Severus snapped, "I know something is going on here, and I need to hear what from you."

Severus recalled his own childhood. His father _figure _(he hardly thought of Tobias Snape as a father) had been horribly abusive. Once he'd shown up to play with Lily and Petunia at the park with a black eye, and the pair of them had grown somber and quiet. Lily had been the one to ask him what had happened, and he'd snapped at her for it. She had rushed off in tears leaving Petunia and him on the swings. There was a long stretch of silence, but it wasn't really awkward. He had been quiet as a child, and, despite her numerous similar traits to Lily, Petunia too was of the quiet type.

"There isn't really anything that can be done, is there?" the young Petunia- even more subdued than usual- had eventually asked with her head lowered as she ground a heel into the sand.

"No," he'd replied, because that seemed to be the truth. Who was going to save him and his mother? Who could intervene enough to stop his father? He couldn't simply leave- he was still a minor- and if intervention _were_ to occur, likely he'd be put into some sort of children's home; his mother's alcoholism rendered her just as incapable a parent as her husband, but Severus _did_ love _her_ without reserve. He used to tell himself he didn't love his father.

Petunia had reached up with her palms splayed towards the sky, as if requesting divine intervention on her meager behalf. "Well, there isn't anything I can do, maybe, but I'll always be your friend." Oddly, Severus had thought, it had been exactly the thing he'd needed to hear. It had been what he'd _needed_:one person to care unconditionally.

Lily had always been a force of nature and eager to pursue a friendship while Petunia had simply been there, a steady presence that grew on him until he realized that the loyalty she felt toward him was reciprocated in equal measure by himself. Lily created conflict and growth, but Petunia was a forever pacified and accepting presence.

Severus still didn't know precisely when or how her aversion to magic had started, but it was a considerable time after that; Petunia, true to her word, had remained loyal until Lily ran off with Potter and Severus had stopped seeing the sisters altogether, withdrawing slowly into the circle of Slytherin boys who would later form the Death Eaters. He could recall thinking- even between Petunia and him (Lily gone home, overcome with tears of indignation, frustration, worry)- that he never would let them go... Not just Lily but Petunia, too, who had for really the first time shown that he meant something to her.

She pulled him off the swing by his wrist- he was eight at the time, Petunia nine- and set off for the woods. There 'Tunia had pulled from her side bag the book Severus had gifted her on her last birthday: _A Beginner's Guide to Potions and Potions Ingredients_ (he'd had no idea what to get Petunia, and even though she would never be able to brew her own potions, she had shown a keen interest in the subject. She'd poured over the book, nearly memorizing every detail in it. Lily had laughed and told him Petunia only liked potions because _he _liked it, but Severus didn't know what that meant at the time). Petunia showed him a simple potion with simple components: a healing salve; one that didn't require any ingredients or equipment (for Petunia's bag was packed full with them) that they didn't have access to right there in the woods. So they had spent an hour collecting plants, and, when they finally had them all, he and Petunia had started mixing them; it was a simple matter of grinding one thing into another. By the end of it they both had created a successful healing slave; oddly, she seemed to have enough magic for her potion to work as well as Severus's did. And all of this had successfully taken his mind off the ordeal at home, and he was surprised to find himself feeling much, much better.

It was always a transitory feeling what the Evans' gave him (he always had to go home), but it had kept him sane when living the way he had for so long had made him believe there _was_ no other way of being: no escape from a life of tension and apprehension, angry at everyone and everything, and _frustrated_ with feeling- with _being-_ helpless and weak, and the worst of it, being humiliated and humbled every day and everyday _wasted_ feeling ashamed of and loathing himself and his parents.

Potter may have filled his mind with the foulest of thoughts and memories, but Severus would not wish child abuse on him.

"Please," he tried. Potter looked like he was breaking under the pressure- or at least in great conflict over Severus's sincere plea- when downstairs they heard a resounding slap, and the house filled with silence.

Then he heard the word, "_Bitch,_" being spat softly by Vernon Dursley, and a sickening crack and cry as he presumably struck Petunia, her son's voice breaking on a sob as he cried, "Mom!"

Severus whipped out of the bedroom and went for the stairs, noticing on his way a bedroom down the other side of the hall with locks on the door, and he knew that that had not been Potter's room he was standing in. He wanted to turn around and berate the boy following him quickly down the stairs, but Petunia was filling his mind, the desire to protect and to defend her overwhelming after his reminiscence, though he supposed he would at least feel that way about anyone, if just a little stronger for Petunia. He was horrified to find her curled and half laying, half sitting up on the kitchen floor, her face turned so that the blood pouring out of her nose from beneath her shaking hand dripped to the floor and not onto her blouse, though it was already stained and ruined from the initial bleeding. Her son knelt beside her, and her husband stood with his fist clenched and his face twisted in ugly anger.

Severus didn't hesitate: he threw his own fist into Vernon's face and the fat man lost his balance, tripping over the chair behind him as he stumbled back, going down with a crash as he tried to sweep his arm over the table for support but ended up taking the dishes to the ground with him instead. He groaned from the floor, but was unable to move right away, and instantly Severus was crouched next to Petunia, gently pulling her hand away from her face, drawing his wand with his free hand.

"D-Don't!" Dudley cried from beside her, and Severus shot him a glare.

"_Episkey. Scourgify._" Severus cast the spells over Petunia and instantly her nose was fixed and the blood was gone. He drew her up, still grasping her wrist.

"Go pack your things, Petunia. You won't be staying here anymore," Severus ordered, and turning to Harry who stood wide-eyed in the door way: "You too, Potter."

"B-But-" Petunia began to protest.

"Not a word!" Severus cut her off in a biting tone. "Go. Now," he commanded, less harsh, but just as final.

"I won't leave my son!" Petunia cried.

Severus glanced at Dudley, a slight grimace making itself known, but he recognized that the boy could not simply be left behind. He gave one affirming nod and then gently steered Petunia towards the hallway, pushing her out of the kitchen, and then reached over a hand behind Dudley's back and did much the same thing, sending them both on their way. When the two were on the stairs, Severus turned to Harry.

"What are you waiting for?" he demanded.

"Professor," Harry said, eyeing Uncle Vernon, who had now pushed himself into a sitting position, and was clutching his own broken nose. "T-The locks."

Severus stiffened; he had forgotten about the locks on the bedroom door. Severus gripped the boy's upper arm lightly and walked with him to the bedroom on the second floor with the chained and dead-bolted door. He could hear Petunia and Dudley in their respective rooms, drawers opening and closing as they hurriedly packed their belongings.

Severus cast a few spells, and Potter's bedroom door swung open, only- Severus soon realized- this was not really his bedroom, either. It was filled with storage boxes, and other kinds of junk, cleaning supplies, and what he presumed to be Dudley's old toys. In the corner was a pile of Harry's school things. The bed and dresser were completely covered with stuff, and Severus knew this had not even been where the boy was sleeping.

Casting a shrinking charm over the luggage in the corner so that Harry could easily slip the things into his pocket, Severus asked, "Where have you been sleeping?"

"In here," Harry lied.

Severus shook his head. "Try again, Potter, and you better get it right this time, or you will have detention everyday for the next school year. I will not tolerate lying."

"The cupboard under the stairs!" the boy finally snapped, annoyance prevalent in his voice, though he was feeling a multitude of things of which annoyance was not the forerunner, Severus could tell.

He could feel disgust contorting his features, and Potter visibly flinched.

Severus relaxed his face and softened his expression, speaking carefully, "I'm not disgusted in you... Harry. Dursley is the disgusting one." He used the boy's first name with hopes of either diverting him or gaining his trust, and he refused to say 'your uncle' because he knew Potter must be taking a lot of ownership in this already, and he didn't want to cement the notion that this was in any way his fault.

Indeed, Harry's head snapped up at the professor's words, however his expression was guarded, and perhaps hateful.

From downstairs however they could hear Vernon shout curse after curse as he finally lifted his oversized self from the floor and came thundering up the stairs. "YOU CAN'T DO THIS YOU FREAK! I'LL HAVE YOU ARRESTED. GET OFF MY PROPERTY NOW, YOU FILTHY-"

Severus rounded on him in the hallway, smiling maliciously the way he sometimes did to intimidate children in his class; apparently it worked on raging grown men as well because Vernon suddenly went quiet.

"Dursley, I suggest you go back downstairs and sit quietly on the sofa before I lose my temper," Severus nearly whispered, his wand pointing directly at the Great Oaf's chest.

"Y-You have no right!" Vernon began again.

"_No, you have no right,_" Severus spat, "to lay a hand on your wife or her nephew. _You disgust me._"

Vernon's anger only seemed to rear its horns again, "EXACTLY AS YOU SAY- SHE'S _MY_ WIFE, AND HE'S _MY_ NEPHEW. THEY'RE _MINE,_ AND I'LL BEAT THEM BLOODY IF I PLEA-"

Severus reached out and grabbed the man's collar with his free hand and his other hand turned and fisted close around his wand, so that it was sticking out sideways as he punched Vernon- more than once- in the face; the blood started to come, painting Severus's knuckles red as if he'd been punching a brick wall and not a fat man's face, only the blood wasn't his, and his knuckles were, in fact, fine.

"Stop!" Petunia cried as she came out of her room, her suitcase behind her forgotten in the doorway, as she ran over and grabbed Severus's arm. "Stop, please!"

He looked over at her and finally dropped his fist, lowering Vernon to the floor when he realized the only thing supporting the obese man was his tight grip around the neck of his shirt, and that his head was now lolling back.

Dudley, Severus then saw, was ready to go too (watching numbly from his own bedroom door, his face frozen in horror, looking as if he were about to go into hysterics), so he leaned down over Vernon and said quietly, "My recommendation is you say nothing about this to anyone, or you will be spending a lot of time in jail for child abuse and the battery of your wife. _I_ on the other hand? The muggles won't even have an address at which to inquire after me."

He then pushed Vernon back so he lay on the floor; the man nodded slightly, but his eyes were rolling deliriously.

Severus stood up and turned to his charges.

"Let's go," he said, and the lot of them made their way to the bottom of the stairs and out of the house in silence, though Harry and Dudley were nearly bursting with the need to know where they were going and what was going to happen next. Harry, who was working up the courage to ask, was completely unaware that the reason Dudley didn't was his mounting rage and shame.

This man had beaten his father to a pulp. This man _hated_ his dad. Was that supposed to be okay with him? Dudley reminded himself what Vernon had done to them, but a part of him still couldn't accept this; a part of him was still loyal to his father.

He may not have _wanted_ to be resentful toward Harry's professor, but he _was_: he'd forced his way into their lives and exposed all of their secrets. Dudley felt... almost violated and very much shamed. On the flip side, he was grateful- too grateful to put into words. This man had saved them, saved his _mom_, the way he himself had desperately wanted to but couldn't.

As the group stepped off the Dursley property and into the street, Snape drawing his wand and casting a disillusionment charm over the lot of them and preparing to apparate, Harry finally grew irritated enough at the words lodged in his throat that he just threw them out there.

"Where are we going?"

"To my home," Snape replied, "Until we get this matter resolved."

"To Spinner's End, you mean?" Harry remembered from the pensieve last year.

Severus sighed; he was growing impatient with the boy- who, he noticed, had failed to address him respectfully yet again- but he kept himself in check: what he had thought he had known about Harry Potter was simply not so. Severus was feeling particularly disgusted with himself for his mistreatment of him in potions class, and all the scathing and apparently mocking remarks he had made about the boy being spoiled and pampered. He knew from his own experience how painful and damaging familial abuse could be and that someone using it in a derogative way was possibly the greatest insult: it was an attack on the already damaged self worth of the abused, and it was a damage, a pain that rotted and festered with each passing day that the abuse continued. To take advantage of that... was _cruel._ He had spent his entire childhood hiding away what had happened to him because he knew it was his greatest weakness, letting himself be belittled repeatedly if only to please or, god-willing, gain the respect and love of a father.

"No, to Snape Manor. Voldemort and the Death Eaters aren't aware of my residence at Snape Manor- only at Spinner's End."

"We're going to your private home, though?" the boy asked, his mouth parted in belated astonishment.

Severus nodded and then turned to Dudley and Petunia, "It may be difficult for you when we jump, but it's the fastest way to the Manor. Hold on tightly and do not let go," he advised.

"Wait a minute," Potter snapped, "We're _apparating_?"

Severus gave another nod and raised his arm slightly, offering it to the party. After a moment of hesitation Potter reached out and grabbed Severus just above the elbow, Petunia and Dudley soon following his example. Despite the fearful looks on their faces they each grasped his forearm firmly- Dudley with both hands.

Severus wondered briefly why these people were giving him their trust so freely. What had he done to warrant this? He contemplated, too, pointing this out to them, berating them for their lack of caution, but as he looked around at the three vulnerable people surrounding him he realized that he was without even the smallest desire to see any one of them harmed or damaged in anyway. Maybe they just knew this, somehow able to sense his intention. Or perhaps Petunia and Dudley were just stupid and following Potter blindly, who- beyond Severus's involvement in Sirius's death- had no reason to _dis_trust Severus any longer (here he chanced a discrete, somewhat sympathetic, and almost apologetic look at Potter who was watching his relatives with something akin to concern). No, Petunia was not stupid enough to give her trust freely; and, in fact, she likely had more reason to believe in him than the boy did. Dudley had blind trust in his mother (not for Severus, obviously), but he couldn't be faulted for that; there was no doubt in Severus's mind that Petunia harbored no ill-intent towards her son... And that was all perfectly acceptable.

Severus took a deep breath.

A resounding _crack_ split the air, and they were gone.

_xxx_

Author's Note:

-Somebody was asking why I would include Snape Manor as there's nothing canon to support its existence. My answer: it seems tactically daft for Snape's true dwelling to be public knowledge... Consider that if Snape was discovered, and he was actually living full time at Spinner's End, he'd have to pick up and move his entire life, but if he's already established elsewhere, he has a safe place to retreat- somewhere he can truly relax and where his possessions and work are safe. This is why I think Snape should have a secret home.

-Petunia and Dudley and Vernon all have blonde hair in the books, I guess. I don't like that. I like them in the movies. Petunia must have dyed her hair anyway, because Lily had red hair (I'm not geneticist, but I thought dark hair was the dominant allele). So anyhow, that's why their hair is auburn in this.

-I received some feedback that Harry is weak in this fic, and I'm trying to correct this, but I don't really know how. The reason why Harry is weak is because I'm drawing from my own experience, and I don't know how others perceive it, but I've learned that being abused does not make you stronger; yes, sometimes the response is hostility and aggression, but eventually that becomes too tiring... I figure Harry has been through enough already that he would be there by now in the story. Tbh, when I think about the HP series, I don't think that Harry is a particularly strong person; I think to myself that his character isn't realistic.

-I appreciate critical reviews though, so please do give an honest critique if you will; I am looking to improve, after all. Any and all feedback is welcome!

-My outline for this story was less than 25 chapters. The story starts to pick up speed around chapter 5-7, I suppose; after that they are shorter and more happens in them. I'm not really happy with the first few chapters, but they are so monstrous in size that I can't be bothered to fix them (even editing is minimal, as you'll notice, and I apologize for that).

-The next chapter is my least favorite of all.

Disclaimer:

I don't own Harry Potter.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Harry was not surprised when Dudley turned and braced his hands on his knees, nearly gagging after apparating. He was feeling rather queasy himself. Looking over at Aunt Petunia, it occurred to him that his aunt had handled it relatively well except she had closed her eyes and was wobbling on her feet slightly, still with her hand lightly pressing into Snape's arm. Then Harry looked up at the professor's face to see what he had made of all this, and found an inscrutable expression there, but the man was clearly straining to keep it as such. Harry caught him glance down at Petunia, her hand, before meeting Harry's relentlessly curious gaze. He stared back, but his facial expression remained blank, and Harry looked away, glancing first at the ground and then outside the group as he sought somewhere else to fix his eyes. What met him was what he presumed to be Snape Manor, and a Manor it certainly was.

Harry, Dudley, Aunt Petunia, and the professor stood where a gravel drive came up to a narrow road, surrounded on either side by thick, luscious, and vibrant forest. He could see several places along the length of the road more drives punctuating the foliage of the woodlands; the difference between those lots and this one- Snape's presumably- was that the professor's had a waist-high cottage-esque stone wall around the outskirts of the property. Harry turned, taking a few steps toward the iron gate (this being stately enough to suit Professor Snape, he thought, unlike the wall which was too... welcoming in his opinion). His mouth parted slightly as he took in the home at the end of the driveway.

It was a two-story house though it looked much taller than that (Harry could tell even from this distance that the ceilings would be higher than usual inside) with a peaked roof. The exterior was stone with large windows and doors, framed in thick white trim. The front entrance was rather dignified, sitting at the top of wide stone steps: large, solid-looking French doors, black in colour with two heavy brass handles on either one. It looked relatively old- some of the paint on the trim was chipping away and mature vines climbed one side of the home, but it appeared to be well maintained... It was rather nice, Harry thought; he would have expected Snape's home to be a lot less comfortable- if this was actually Snape's home.

He looked up at the professor then, the question in his face _Is that where you live?_ wanting to make certain he had the right house before he went walking up to it. His somewhat impertinently raised brows earned him a sneer and a curt nod. Snape then glanced back at the Dursleys, directing Harry's attention toward them, as well. They appeared to be well enough to walk with then, and so the party made their way down the gravel drive. Harry could hear the sound of birds on either side of them in the forest, the sunlight flickering on the lane where it managed to pierce the tree tops, a weak wind shifting them this way and that. A half-minute later and Harry had come to a stop, looking up apprehensively.

Meanwhile Aunt Petunia stepped up to the professor's side where he had come to a stop behind Harry. "Quite an improvement over Spinner's End," she noted somberly.

"Indeed." His voice was dry.

While the others were caught up in their appreciation of his home, Severus felt a slight nausea of his own overtake him. _What had he been thinking?_ Now that he had the Dursleys and the Potter boy standing outside of his home- his home which very few people had ever had the privilege of visiting- he was sure he had not thought this through. They couldn't simply live with him- not even for a week (which is what he had had in mind when he'd taken them from Number Four) while Petunia found her family new lodgings or while Vernon Dursley was accordingly arrested or simply removed from Privet Drive by whatever means- magical if need be.

Severus knew that he should be moving towards the front door, ushering them in by now, but he could not bring himself to so much as shift weight between his feet; they felt rooted to the spot. _It's only for a week_, Severus reminded himself, _Albus will deal with them._ He couldn't quite explain it, but there was a terrible sense of foreboding mounting in him, as if he didn't believe what he was telling himself_._ Still, the thought of these people being inside his home- the one place in the world he was truly himself- made him incredibly uncomfortable.

Severus thought about the nights he returned from his work inside Voldemort's inner circles, thought about returning after a day spent being harassed by Albus and the Order, and thought about times when, occupying his personal study and potions lab, was the ongoing research for either or both of his employers which often served to frustrate him even more than his students managed... Often he would wander his house silently, a scotch in hand, wearing clothing other than his standard black attire (secretly he feared being ridiculed the way he had been as a child for dressing poorly, wearing either colours that did not match or ill-fitting articles (his poor taste rooted in the fact that he had never been able to afford more than a few second hand pieces); not to mention the black robes were now a part of his persona- Petunia at least wouldn't be surprised to see him out of his standard garments, but that was not really of any consolation); most pressingly, the ways in which he dealt with these things were _private_, and lord knew they weren't simply going to cease whilst he had company. A lot depended on him in this war, and he could not afford to give up any one of his coping mechanisms, no matter what it was that served in keeping him together; that meant that there would be no putting away his drink or wearing only his teacher's robes in the meantime: if he was to have company there would be no adjusting to them.

Even more, Severus realized-, still internally examining his personal life and the concept that it was going on- at least what he considered to be- public display, many a night he woke up in a heavy sweat from nightmares, while other nights he didn't sleep at all but stayed up reading into the early morning hours. He didn't want Potter to know about his habits, or that he enjoyed taking walks at dusk and dawn, his exercise regimen (his training in hand-to-hand combat), or the foods that he ate and when he ate, and most especially he did not want anyone to know about the fondness he harbored for his house elf, Pockey.

No, he couldn't do this.

"Uhm?" Dudley intoned. Severus looked at him as if he hadn't realized he was there, playing innocent, as he raised, not one, but both brows.

"Yes?"

"...Er, nothing," Dudley muttered after a tentative pause. He looked at to the side, glaring half-heartedly at Harry, as if he expected him to do something.

_Bloody hell_, thought Severus, feeling numb with shock, _I have no way out of this now unless I dump them at some inn, but where will they be safe and accessible to the Order and not the Dark Lord?_

Severus noticed even Petunia was shifting awkwardly beside him then.

_...Curse you Albus Dumbledore._

He grimaced and forced himself to move forward and up the entry steps; he waved his wand and his prized doors swung open, heavy on their hinges. He turned around to gesture for the family to come in, and nearly faltered when they all looked up at him in distinct relief. He wondered if they had realized his misgivings of a moment ago, but there was really nothing for it.

As soon as he'd stepped onto the property Severus's house elf, Pockey, had been aware of his master's return, and that his master brought guests; normally Pockey would go without hesitation to greet the potions master when he arrived home, but when he had guests Pockey waited to be summoned like any good house elf would. This rule of conduct seemed rather null though as Pockey was called as soon as the humans entered the manor; in fact, there had never been an occasion where Pockey had _not_ been needed immediately, the elf realized. He tucked away this interesting detail for further consideration sometime later: perhaps the rule needed revising, he thought with excitement and anticipation. With a not-so-subtle _pop_, Pockey was transported from the basement kitchen (and house elf quarters) to the entry of the estate. Without first surveying the party- another rule of conduct- Pockey offered a low bow, flinching slightly when he heard the half-shriek of a woman and the cry of a boy as he stumbled back a few steps.

"There is no need to be alarmed," his master said sounding even less animated than usual; Pockey frowned at the floor where his face was still directed. "This is Pockey, my house elf. I suggest you get used to him because he is a fairly consistent presence in my home." The professor smirked somewhat.

"Pockey," he said then, addressing the small creature. "Would you see to it that the Dursleys' things, as well as Potter's, make it up to the spare bedrooms?" Severus asked this as he was spelling Harry's luggage to its original size.

"I would be honored," Pockey bowed again, eyeing Harry in wonderment and respect. Harry caught Pockey staring and offered a small smile, knowing his escapades with Dobby had reached the ear of this elf, too. With another _pop_, Pockey and the luggage disappeared, leaving behind four uncertain people.

"I suppose a brief tour is in order," Severus relinquished, tension making itself known in both his voice and stature, but there seemed to be no other avenue with which proceed.

He started on the immediate right side of the house where his office was; behind it was the library and across that, in the back left, was the dining room; last was the living room in the front and on one of the side tables was a muggle telephone with Snape's number written on a piece of parchment stuck to the top of it, and he told them they may use the telephone if needed; the washroom in the middle of the house, next to the staircase, was accessible through the entry hall. The entire first story had dark hardwood floors, though Snape had put large area rugs in most rooms. The interior walls were of course covered in generally dark wall paper, the trim and doors being dark wood that matched the flooring, and Harry imagined it would have felt very dungeon-y if not for the large windows in every room. In fact it was quite a lot like Grimmuald Place, he thought, except that Snape Manor was much brighter and much better kept which Harry attributed to Pockey (and not wrongfully).

His favorite room was the rather large library. In stark contrast to the living room and dining room the library looked the most lived in, shelves crammed full of books and random jars of potions ingredients here and there all the way up to the high ceilings (high ceilings which were, as Harry had accurately predicted, a feature of every room in the house). There was two stiff wing-backed chairs, with several aged cushions on the floor at the foot of one. A light fixture hung from the ceiling, and there were four side-tables placed throughout the room with not only books, parchment, quills, and ink bottles covering them but reading lamps as well. Harry smiled when he caught sight of the ladder leaning up against the far side bookshelf and a black silk robe that hung nonchalantly over one of the rungs.

Severus showed them the small passage that connected the library to the dining room at the very back of the house, and a door in the side of the wall below the high part of the second-story stairs, where another set led down into what was the basement.

"Down these stairs and to the right, below the library and my office is my personal study and potions lab; to the left is the kitchen and Pockey's quarters." It did not surprise Harry that Snape did not include the basement in his tour, and neither did he take them upstairs. By the time they rounded into the dining room it was nearly lunch time, and so Snape called Pockey and asked him to fetch them some food which Pockey answered with a bow and a _pop_ as he returned once more to the kitchen. Then the professor stepped to the dining room window, his hands clasped behind his back and said, "The garden is accessible either through the front door or the mud-room via the living room or the backdoor," he gestured back to the pass they had just come from. "Beware when outside as there are many animals and insects that are of invaluable- often necessary- assistance in growing the plants and some are certainly of the dangerous variety- though," he added thoughtfully, "I don't believe there is any poison on my property that I cannot cure. You may ask after my whereabouts with Pockey if you need me, however, I think Pockey should be able to assist in most matters."

Harry hesitated and then stepped up to the window beside the professor, Aunt Petunia and Dudley doing the same. The expanse of the garden, which was nothing to scoff at, was overgrown with, as Snape had said, a multitude of plants. To the left, over the brush Harry could make out a set of table and chairs in a small clearing where a stone patio had been laid, and a way behind that there was an outdoor shed presumably where Snape kept his gardening supplies. Directly ahead there was, coming from the stairs off the side of the house, a small stone walk way that wound up and around towards what Harry thought must have been a bench and what looked like a pond to the far right of the garden, again just barely visible through the foliage. Before he could ask the professor for confirmation on this point another _pop_ was heard, and Harry turned to see that the table had been covered with dishes and food- sandwiches and salad and tea with biscuits.

Harry along with the rest was seated, and together they enjoyed a sufficiently awkward lunch; each member of the party sat stiff, still in shock, torn between the need to grapple with what had occurred- which was preferably done in solitude- and being present at the dining table for courtesy's sake. No one really said anything or seemed to have a particularly strong appetite, either; in fact, no one seemed capable of doing more than nibbling on their sandwiches, with perhaps one or two bites of fruit or vegetable from the salads between, and the biscuits remained completely untouched but for Dudley, who had half of one.

After lunch, Pockey came and cleared the table, and then the awkward silence came to a head; Severus, who'd had his elbows on the table and his fingers laced before his face, looking thoroughly displeased (this was just such a situation as had he been dreading), suddenly pushed back from the table.

"I suppose you'd all like a chance to recuperate... Pockey will show you to your rooms," Severus stated. Suddenly, the house elf was standing in the arched passage between the informal living room and the dining room.

"If the mistress and young masters would follow me-" he began in his high-pitched, squeaky voice. Dudley jumped again, however, startled by the little house elf.

"Ah!" he cried in alarm.

Pockey himself then jumped back, frightened by the boy and his sudden outburst.

Harry unable to contain himself, snapped, "He's as afraid of you as you are of him," at Dudley who had the decency to at least look sympathetically, if not apologetically, at Pockey.

They made their way through the living room and into the entry where the second-story stairs met the first floor. On the second Pockey first showed them to the first room where he had put Dudley's things. Then, connected by a shared en suite bathroom to the first, was the room where Pockey had put Harry's things. On the left side was Severus's bedroom (which they did not go into). The master suite shared a wall with the last guest bedroom, given to Petunia; it was next to another washroom- a washroom, she realized, she would have sole use of, though it did not share a door with her own room.

After Pockey made certain that none of his master's guests were in want of anything and his services were no longer he needed, he apparated back downstairs to finish cleaning away lunch.

Dudley looked at his mum, and said finally, "I'm going to go unpack a few things, then." And with that the three dispersed from the open hallway.

Harry found himself, after closing the door behind him, confronted with a silent and still room, one which he was almost too nervous to move about in. He took a few steps over to his luggage, putting his hand on Hedwig's cage which was stacked on top of his trunk. The cage was empty; he had sent Hedwig off to the Burrow for the summer when he realized things were not going to go so well. He really wasn't sorry he had: this way he didn't have to think about owling Ron or Hermione when he honestly didn't know what to say to them.

Harry moved to sit on the edge of the queen sized bed in the middle of the room then. There were end tables on either side, a door on the left to the bathroom he'd be sharing with Dudley, and two large windows- one over the bed, and one across from the bathroom looking out over the front of the house; this window had a comfortable looking chaise lounge under it with a table and floor lamp in the corner beside it. It was a nice room... Far larger than anything Harry was used to- even at Hogwarts his space was nothing like this. It felt how he imagined staying in a nice hotel would.

He sighed then, being careful not to sigh too loudly lest he break the calmness that lay like a blanket over Snape Manor; he felt apprehensive about it, as if Vernon were going to jump out of the nearest closet and start beating him if the floors creaked (which had sometimes been enough cause at home on Privet Drive). He thought likely it was just going to take some time for the tension to ease as it always did when he returned to Hogwarts, the same way it took him the first month or two of school to regain all the weight he'd inevitably lose over summer, though it seemed that wouldn't be happening again.

Harry felt remotely horrified by what had taken place, but the feeling was definitely remote... Or maybe it was that the shame, the anger, the pain was so great it had swelled into a vitriolic miasma encompassing him, one which he couldn't grasp any more than he could the air around him, but one which he was constantly breathing, one which he was constantly having to strain to see through. Encircled by the murky cloud, Harry felt numb, almost anesthetized, with any true emotions existing _outside_ of him.

At this point he couldn't even care about the fact that Snape _knew_... _everything_. It then occurred to Harry, rather spontaneously, that Snape was the last person in the world he wanted to know any of this... But Snape did.

He knew everything.

And in the next instant Harry felt panic and distress coursing through him, burning inside his blood vessels; he could feel his heart beat picking up, as reality began to take hold- apparently he _was_ capable of feeling.

He registered that through it all he'd been telling himself all of this would go away, forgotten as if it had never happened, and that's how he'd coped (one day the cloud was going to dissipate and he would be _free_); he was going to graduate and leave it all in the past- no one the wiser, including Harry himself if he could manage it- but that wasn't going to happen anymore, he realized with horror. In fact, his usual ten month reprieve over the school year was lost, too, because it had been his _potions professor_ of all people to find out._ Why couldn't it have been some muggle neighbor instead?_ At least then he could still pretend while away at school that his life was something other than it was (shamefully, he had to admit that he kind of appreciated the assumptions everyone made about him. He wished they were true, and often times he'd tell himself all of the things Snape said to him about being spoiled and pampered and loved _were_ true; and if being accused of those things only aided in pushing his abject reality further away then why _not_ revel in it? It wasn't as if it spoiled his hatred toward Snape, one of the easier things he'd ever felt).

So suddenly did Harry recognize all that had changed, he found himself floundering for some reprieve, but his whole world- delicate and already fractured as it had been- was now shattering into pieces. There was no reprieve from this reality now that he knew it- now that _Snape _knew it.

_No, no, no,_ he chanted as he stood from the bed and began to pace back and forth. And as if he wasn't humiliated and ashamed enough already, now Snape was going to tell everyone: the Order, Dumbledore, Ron and Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley. Probably the whole wizarding world would know, his face splashed across the papers with headlines of battery and abuse in big black letters above. Harry's breathing quickened in time with his heart beat, and he reached up and tugged on his hair with both hands; he would never escape.

And it was because of Snape.

One half of Harry was distraught and raging with shame and indignation and anger while the other half was cooing to the first, trying to soothe himself.

It wasn't right: he couldn't blame Snape, not for something that hadn't even happened yet. Besides, Snape had _saved_ him. He'd saved his aunt. If anything Snape had proved today that he was a better man than the bully he had always pretended to be. Harry had no doubts anymore about what side of the war Snape was on, and that should have been enough- would have been enough, if Harry could have reconciled his thoughts about Snape. He was no Death Eater, Harry knew now; a Death Eater wouldn't have defended a muggle woman the way Snape had defended Aunt Petunia... Even more, he was tolerating Dudley through all of this... And he'd brought them into his _home_. Harry couldn't conceive what had prompted the professor to suddenly change face like that.

He understood that the man had to convince the other students of his hatred for Harry in class, but Harry always thought it was real- his occulmency lessons were testament enough to the truth of it. But Snape had been someone almost entirely unrecognizable at Privet Drive... Even just know, the way he had sat at lunch with them... He was _civil _(although that didn't change anything, he assured himself again- he still despised Snape, he always would; he was a cruel man, prejudiced and sadistic).

Harry considered that maybe it was just circumstance. Maybe men like Vernon prompted people to act like that. It was true of Aunt Petunia and Dudley, after all. There had never been a time in Harry's life when he had been unsure about either ones' feelings towards him- that is, he'd always felt their animosity with no possibility of misinterpreting it, but now he no longer could (at least not from Dudley, he couldn't. Aunt Petunia still seemed to be bitter about something, Harry just didn't know what; it wasn't the same bitterness, of that he was certain). But it wouldn't have mattered if Dudley and his aunt still hated him anyway, he thought, because they had shown today- or at least his aunt had- that she really did care about him.

As if he were reliving the very moment she'd screamed, _Don't touch him!_ Harry felt a shiver run the length of his spine. He hated to admit it- especially when Molly Weasley was liable and _willing_ to crush him in a tremendous hug as soon as she saw him- but there wasn't a woman's love he craved more than he did Aunt Petunia's- even, he grimaced, his mother's. He had never known Lily Potter, and no one else could replace Aunt Petunia: _she'd raised him_; she _was _his mother for all intents and purposes; she was the standard of woman to which he held all others (that's not to say he wanted to be treated by a wife the way she treated him, but she would have to be smart, and clever, and loyal, and strong the way his aunt was... She would probably have to have similar taste in food and decorations, humor, and all the rest, too, for Harry to want to spend his life with her, for her life to fit well with his). Aunt Petunia had made him the person he was. Even more, when Harry had cried in his cupboard as a child, it wasn't for his parents (they were never coming back, and that was something he had accepted a long time before, almost as soon as it occurred to him they were missing), but he cried for his aunt.

And, as far as Harry was concerned, for the first time in his life she _had_ told him she loved him.

Harry shook out his arms, summoning his Gryffindor courage, before turning suddenly, pulling open the door, and walking swiftly across the hall to his aunt's room where the door was left open just a crack. He drew a breath and knocked softly before he could turn and make a run for it, his stomach doing odd things inside of him.

"Come in," he heard Aunt Petunia call, and Harry pushed open the door slowly, peaking his head around the edge before stepping in. Not-so-coincidentally, Petunia was sitting on the edge of the bed much the way he had been- and in a room that looked fairly similar, as well- and it became painfully obvious to Harry that he really was his aunt's son.

"Harry?" Petunia questioned with a slight frown, and she watched as Harry moved hesitantly forward. "What is it?" she prompted. It sounded different asking 'What is it?' as opposed to 'What do you want?' even to Petunia, who had spent the last thirty minutes or so trying to come to grips with everything herself- though, not so much what had happened between her and her husband, but what had been done to her nephew. Now that everything had come to a head (or maybe it was being in Severus' home- remembering her childhood and _his_) she found herself looking back on all that had transpired, not understanding how it had. It'd been a gradual decent into the full on abuse of her nephew, and somehow it had just never registered with her, one small thing at a time: calling him Harry, and then calling him boy, eventually using foul language to address him... Petunia was sickened by it.

There was a line, and she had crossed it.

"Er, well," he began, "I just wanted to say about before... Thank you for standing up for me."

Aunt Petunia stared at Harry, her mouth slightly parted, the pressure on her chest making her feel like her heart was going to break in two. The guilt she had just been experiencing only intensified, compounded by his actions and his words; Petunia thought she as a person might break under the weight of it.

And the worst of it was she didn't know if she had the strength to apologize and to humble herself to him the way he deserved in return.

If she did- considering that she couldn't very well _expect_ him to forgive her- and he chose to throw her apology back in her face what would be left of her? He could really destroy her because how could she ever forgive _herself_ for what she had done to him? How was she supposed to live with this?

Petunia took a deep breath then and asked herself could she live with herself if she _didn't_? Her mental inquiry was met with silence (as if the question wasn't even worth addressing), and so it was with a constricted and aching throat that she asked herself _did she even deserve the privilege of _knowing_ Severus _(what he had done for them aside)_ if she did not? _

Her chin wobbled a little and she rubbed her thumb against the underside of her wedding band, remembering the person Vernon had been and who _she_ had been; Petunia had married Vernon because he gave her strength, albeit a contemptuous strength that he himself got from arrogance. It had made her feel like a bigger person when she felt so small for having nothing but devaluation and pain and loneliness inside of her (he'd taken those things and changed them into bitterness and anger and hatred). She'd cared for Vernon simply because he had bothered to care for her, though he had never been able to fill her enough to fill the hole Severus had left behind. Yes, Severus was the love of her life, but she wasn't a simpering school girl anymore, and she wasn't going to be petty anymore and lash out at everyone because she wasn't enough. That approach had never once worked for her in all this time, and it wasn't going to work now, so while Petunia knew she would never have Severus, she also knew that didn't mean she couldn't- and wouldn't- _deserve_ him.

Petunia was fairly certain she was a better person than anything she'd done up until that point indicated, and she wanted to prove it to herself; she didn't want to cause her own misery anymore- she _couldn't_.

"Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked, and she looked up to see him watching her with a concerned frown.

"Harry," she started, her voice strained, "Will you sit with me?"

Harry, without a word, moved to sit next to his aunt, looking at her cautiously but without mistrust or any sort of bitterness, she noted. This only served to strengthen her resolve. If a boy of hardly fifteen years of age could keep from acting out on his pain, so could she, though she didn't know Harry was merely detached and dissociating.

"I don't expect forgiveness, Harry," she said. "I don't believe there is anything I can say or do now to make okay what happened, and I definitely can't take it back even if I wish I could." Petunia sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly, "I don't know that I can even express to you the depth of my regrets," and then she stopped and swallowed several times, her neck stretching as she titled her head back and looked at the ceiling. A moment later: "_I am so sorry_. I want you to know- in case there is _any_ possibility it will help you- that I know now how wrong and weak I was; I know I hurt you, and I hate myself more than I can say. I want you to know that you aren't the only one suffering anymore, and I won't ever leave you alone in that again," Petunia was practically choking on a sob she refused to let go, her voice growing progressively smaller. She could feel it lodged like a stone in her throat, tearing it apart when she tried to swallow again; she lowered her face, summoning what strength she could to keep talking in spite of the pain. "...And all this time I treated you like I loved you less than Dudley, but, Harry, any decent mother could not raise a baby boy from infant-hood into a young man and not feel that that child was her _own_. Maybe I'm not a decent mother, though I think I was to Dudley. I suppose that means I'm just not a decent person... I still don't really understand it."

When Petunia finally stopped her rambling the silence in the room was so deafening it made her ears ring. She couldn't find it in herself to look over at Harry. Instead she stared at the carpet in front of her feet, whilst her throat seemed to release its hold around the rock, little by little.

Harry once again felt his emotions seeping out of him in shock. He had no idea what to say, though there was certainly no shortage of things he _wanted_ to say. Aunt Petunia had just told him everything he had ever wanted to hear from her but words were not enough to express this or to say how badly she had hurt him; there was no way to tell her that it wasn't a matter of forgiveness because he hadn't been holding a grudge against her or anything, and that she'd more than made up for her years of _indiscretion,_ anyway; he wanted to tell her that he knew how she felt: words were _really_ not enough because he could scarcely find his own (in fact, at that moment, Harry was contemplating not saying anything at all simply because the effort he would expend attempting to be articulate his thoughts, his feelings would exceed and outweigh any relief he might feel by successfully communicating); and Harry wanted to thank her. Thanking her seemed like the easiest place to start, and so that's what he did.

"...Thank you, Aunt Petunia."

And then Petunia did sob; she didn't cry, but she sobbed once, a great shuddering breath that wracked her chest with relief (it caught her off guard). "Please don't thank me, Harry. I've done nothing to warrant it."

"Honestly, Aunt Petunia," Harry said, and even as part him reassured her he felt the other half was clawing at the first, screaming for retribution and _justice,_ even though she had just humbled herself (W_hat else can she even give?_ he asked himself; _Don't forgive her!_ the other half screamed); his fists were clenched in his lap as he steeled himself to withstand the cruel words he knew he would be directing at himself in her stead.

"There's nothing to forgive because I'm not angry at you. And, no, what happened can't be taken back, but you've really made up for it." Harry shrugged. "I turned out okay, anyway, so what is there to regret?"

"You turned out more than okay, Harry," Petunia said in a quiet voice, finally able to meet Harry's eyes. "I can't forgive myself so easily, but if you say you forgive me I believe you... I don't know how you can accept my apology. I expected you to throw it back in my face; it would only be fair."

"I don't think it would be. After all, it took a lot of courage for you to apologize to me." Harry thought his aunt would probably be a Gryffindor, too, and it only served to increase his good opinion of her.

Petunia was at a loss for words because every time she thought Harry had outdone himself he outdid himself again (and how could a boy so wronged at such a young age be this mature?). How was it possible for her to feel this proud? She felt like she was bursting at the seems with pride and- and _contentment_ and relief; Harry forgave her, and that meant he was okay. He was okay.

Petunia simply reached around and draped an arm around Harry's shoulders, squeezing gently before letting go. Harry blushed, but couldn't help grinning up at his aunt, and his smile was infectious; Aunt Petunia smiled down at him in turn.

A few companionable moments later, and Petunia huffed lightly. "I suppose I should find a number and use the phone to call a lawyer," she mused aloud.

"I don't know where you'll find a phonebook around here, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied, a seed of hope taking root inside him that the whole affair could be dealt with in the muggle world if Aunt Petunia stepped up.

"Perhaps we should walk into town then? It is turning out to be a nice day."

"I guess so." Harry shrugged. "Although we'll have to ask Professor Snape first. I don't know how safe it is around here."

"True." Petunia's lips curved upward for no real reason.

"Er..." Harry was trying to bite back his question, but he didn't think he could.

"What is it?" his aunt prodded him.

"Well, I know you used to be childhood friends- or at least Professor Snape and my mum were- but you seemed..." Harry didn't really know how to put it, so he let his words drop off assuming Aunt Petunia had understood his meaning.

"Your mother, Snape, and I were all close," she said, nodding. Then she lightly bit her bottom lip unsure how much she should tell Harry. "Well, Severus liked your mother-"

Harry was about to interrupt because he was sure Aunt Petunia couldn't mean what he thought her to mean, but before either one could finish what they wanted to say a third voice interrupted.

"Mum, have you seen Harry? He's not in his- oh." Dudley had walked in without knocking, looking over his shoulder as if he thought he had missed Harry in the hallway before spotting his cousin next to his Mother on the bed.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Nothing, really," Dudley said, scratching the back of his head.

"What are you guys talking about?" he asked, sounding somewhat suspicious.

Harry was about to answer but then thought better of it, looking to his aunt instead.

"I... I was just..." Petunia was still finding this harder than she expected it to be. Clearly it wasn't going to be as simple as moving on. "I was just apologizing to Harry-" oddly enough Dudley shot his cousin a guilty look here, one that didn't go unnoticed by either person perched on the bed- "and telling him about how I know Severus."

"Severus is the professor's first name?"

Petunia nodded "Severus Prince Snape."

Harry shot Petunia an accusatory look as if to ask_ How do you know that?_ and _Why have you never let on that you knew my professor so well?_

"Do you want to listen, too?" Petunia asked. She rarely coddled or babied Dudley the way she used to. She thought he had lost some respect for her when she'd let herself be beaten- she'd lost some of her own self-respect, actually (if not all of it)- and Dudley had changed a lot. He'd subdued and matured, and he'd grown out of his arrogance and bullying. If it wasn't too sick to admit it, she'd say that her husband becoming abusive towards her and Harry was the best thing that had happened to Dudley. She'd never been proud of the way her son behaved- she'd instilled in him all of the pain she'd ever felt and consistently acted out on; she'd seen her own misery reflected in her child, and it had broken her heart- but she was proud of Dudley now. He was a person capable of stepping out of the only way of life he'd ever known straight into uncharted territory while Petunia was able to turn away from the life she'd been living with Vernon only because she had held onto to her happy memories with Lily and Severus, only because she had seen decency and kindness in her own parents, only because she could remember what it was to be happy and nonviolent and _peaceful_. Did Dudley know any of that? Had he ever given anything of himself and felt good about it? Did he know what it was to live without pain and anger and ego constantly interfering with his life, with his relationships? His friendship with Pierce (his best- and, really- _only _friend) had been based on those things, and when he had changed, he'd lost that one close friend; Petunia felt sorry for this, too.

Dudley moved hesitantly to sit on the carpet in front of his Mother and Cousin, looking to Harry for some sort of consent. Harry offered a shrug and this seemed to be all he needed. Dudley crossed his legs and asked, "You're hearing it for the first time, too, Harry?"

Nodding, Harry replied, "Professor Snape and I never really got a long. He definitely wasn't going to tell me anything because he _wanted_ to, but I saw-" Harry was about to tell them about the memory in the pensieve but thought better of it. "I knew he and my mum were friends. That's it."

Dudley nodded, and then looked to his mum, waiting for her to continue patiently but expectantly, as did Harry. Petunia blew out a soft breath.

"Well, I was just saying to Harry that it's true. Your Aunt Lily, Severus, and I were all very close when we were children."

Was Severus going to be angry with her if she revealed the true extent of his feelings? Most likely. Was there anyway around it, though? Petunia decided she would just be as vague as possible, especially where it concerned his feelings; the less she said the better- after all once spoken, words could not be taken back. Unfortunately, when Petunia opened her mouth, discretion seemed to fly out the window. There really was no way around it. Not for a straightforward woman like Petunia.

"I cared very much about Severus... Though he only had eyes for Lily- your mother, Harry. Of course, in the end she chose your father..."

Lily had told Petunia when she was seventeen- Lily sixteen- how Snape had called her a mudblood.

"Do you see, 'Tunia, how awful he is? You've wasted your time and your heart on him." Of course Petunia had never believed that, and she hadn't believed Lily had either. Lily had been kind. That's why Petunia had never understood what had prompted her to do what she did to Severus, letting him believe that she could ever harbor feelings for him and then giving her heart to the man who treated _him_ like a _half_blood (At least Severus had never _treated_ Lily that way, and, ultimately, she thought, actions speak louder than words). Petunia almost didn't blame Severus for what he had said to Lily. She understood what it was like to ache for the person you love, and to know they would forever be yearning for someone else- her very own sister in this case (sometimes Petunia hadn't been able help but think it was all just a bad nightmare)... Of course she had never acted out on her envy of Lily for Severus- not at that time, but the sisters had become more and more distant over the years; Petunia could never accept how little Lily thought of Severus, and Lily could never accept how highly Petunia thought of him. Of course, James and Severus were eternal enemies. And so no one had really been happy. James and Lily had had each other, but Lily had lost her sister and her best friend while James's heart was tainted with bitterness. Though, Petunia was relieved thinking back that Lily and James _had _been pretty happy in the end- at least they'd got on with their lives. She was glad for it; it would have made her sick to think either of them missed out on life, and then died so young.

In fact, Petunia was fairly certain that any ill-treatment of Harry on Severus's part over the years was in lieu of all this, considering it had been- at least somewhat- for her. That point was perhaps the singularly most important point of all, and yet Petunia thought it was the one the thing she should keep from Harry above all else (it was Severus's to share).

"What...?" Harry asked, dumbfounded, though this was precisely what he had suspected. "Professor Snape... loved my mum?"

Aunt Petunia nodded. "Very much so," she said.

"But then is that why-" Harry shook his head. No, Snape wouldn't treat him the way he did because his mother had chosen James. It just couldn't be. Harry knew his father had been a right prat to Snape (when he'd found that out it had, in a way, justified Snape's ill-treatment of him), but the professor had really proven himself- during the whole incident at the ministry and today especially; Harry was sure his only motivation could be convincing the Dark Lord of his loyalty. And beyond that, Harry didn't really take it as personal: Snape hated everyone.

"You loved Harry's teacher?" Dudley burst.

Aunt Petunia nodded, and said again, "Very much so."

"Is that why you hated Harry?" Dudley asked without tact the very question no one wanted to hear asked.

Harry sat up a little straighter and watched as Aunt Petunia blushed and looked down at her still fiddling fingers.

"It is isn't it?" Harry demanded, his voice betraying his hurt, his astonishment, his indignation.

"Harry, I'm so sorry," Petunia said, looking up then. "I was so upset that Lily broke Severus's heart, chose a man who treated _him_ like a mudblood... I- I hated her for telling me he was a waste of my time and heart. I loved Severus as much as he loved Lily, as much as your mum and Dad loved each other."

"...You mean you both blamed them- for being happy?" Harry asked, his voice incredulous and his volume rising at the injustice of it.

"Not for being happy," Petunia shook her head. "For hurting us both. For treating us both like filth. And, Harry, you have to know that I never acted badly towards you _because_ of _that_, it just landed me in this situation- married to Vernon-" she held up her ring finger, "but directly or indirectly, you shouldn't have to pay anything for what happened then."

"But- how can you just be realizing that now?" Harry asked, desperately trying not be upset.

"I don't know. _I don't know._ I really don't think what I did to you had anything to do with getting back at my sister. I loved her until the day she died, and I love her now. Vernon made her betrayal hurt less."

"Oh." Harry stared numbly at Dudley. His cousin, he thought absently, looked like he dreadfully wanted to say something, but he didn't, so Harry, digging his nails into his palms to assure himself that this _wasn't okay_, said in yet another false display of maturity and understanding beyond his years, "It's fine. I guess the reasons why don't really matter anymore."

_xxx_

Meanwhile in the room directly below a very grouchy potions professor, completely unaware as to the conversation about him going on upstairs was fire-calling the headmaster, a man whom he both loved and hated dearly.

"What is it my boy?" Professor Dumbledore had asked as soon as Severus had withdrawn his head from the fire, and he stepped into the Potion Master's office.

Severus, without attempting to answer yet, dragged a hand through is hair and considered the flames in the hearth as they flickered back to orange. Where to begin?

"News of Harry?" the headmaster prompted in a not-so-rare show of perception.

"Yes," Severus nodded. "Perhaps you would like to take a seat?"

"No, I think I would prefer to stand."

"Albus, it seems your concerns were not unwarranted, though I dare say they fail to grasp the nature of the situation. Dursley was beating Harry- and his wife," Severus said it quickly as if Albus hearing the facts fast would make it easier. Unfortunately, it didn't take away any of the unpleasantness, but it did shock the old man. Soon, his blue eyes narrowed, fading in a way that should have made them looked clouded but which only seemed to serve in improving the clarity of mind in them.

"Has this always been the case or have things escalated recently?"

"I can't be sure, but I believe it to be a recent development. Harry was sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs, as well. He looks starved. There were also minor injuries to him and his aunt, both."

"And..."

"And?"

"What did you do?"

Severus frowned, feeling as if he was being accused of something- feeling as if he were being accused of caring- or as if that accusation was just around the corner (he hadn't failed to notice the way the headmaster had jerked when Severus had used Harry's given name- truth be told, it had just slipped out of him).

"I couldn't simply leave them there," he growled, the headmaster's twinkle returning to his eyes ever so slightly, though not enough to undermine the gravity of the situation, to be interpreted as inappropriate. "I brought them here," he nearly spat, "but don't think I'm responsible for them, Albus! I want them removed within the week, or you will have effectively lost your most valuable asset in this war!"

"Threats, Severus?"

"It's not a threat, headmaster; its cause and effect. I need the solitude of my home. I need peace in order to function."

Albus nodded then, hearing the truth in the words; his expression saddened.

"May I see Harry?"

"I don't know if that is advisable just yet. He seems rather traumatized. If he's confronted with the truth being revealed too soon, it would only serve to traumatize him more. He seemed to withdraw when I realized what was happening; there was very little emotion on his part, and that is my biggest concern. Therefore I would, in fact, request you say nothing of this development to anyone until further notice..." Severus was fairly certain from his own experience that he would know when the boy was able to handle having his secret outed.

"Severus, you know I must in order to proceed. Vernon will need to be prosecuted and tried- if not under magical law, then at least in the muggle world."

Severus did not fail to notice the way Albus's hands, tense and agitated, which were once serenely clasped in front of him, now abused each other; one hand pushed the ring of the other into the soft, aging skin around his knuckle until it was bright red, turning it about like a screw-on-cap, as if there was an unscratchable itch between his fingers. It was the only tell of Albus's distress, but it was quite significant; Albus never showed blatant, _genuine_ emotion, let alone distress. Severus was beginning to worry.

"Then perhaps we should leave it to Petunia Dursley to handle?" he suggested.

"Perhaps," Albus nodded. "but I need to be assured of their safety in the meantime."

"They'll be here," Severus growled again, unable to help his biting tone of voice.

"Until when, Severus? Muggle trials can take months or even years to be resolved."

"Which is precisely why I am requesting your assistance."

"Severus, you are well aware of the laws and binding spells needed to transfer property- and the payments, the location, the security-"

"Just find them a bloody home!"

The headmaster sighed again, irritation and exhaustion evident.

"I will do what I can, Severus."

The Potions Master nodded. "If nothing else we can move them into Grimmuald Place, no?"

"No," Albus said simply, "Harry's name, not Petunia's, is on the title; he would not have the ward's protection there, nor would it be advisable to move him into the residence of Sirius so soon, and the interference they would cause with Order meetings... I dare say it is the last place they should be moved."

"As long as it's not _my_ home," Severus insisted, placing his hands on his hips. "Is there anything else you need?"

"No." Albus shook his head.

The headmaster did not turn to leave.

"What is it?" Severus glared.

"I cannot just leave without seeing him."

"Albus, we already spoke of this. If I expect to earn their trust I have to first give them my confidentiality. It would look exceptionally poor if I brought you to see them the same day I forced my way into their home and removed them from it. I will tell Harry that I've spoken to you, and if he wishes to speak to you, I will send for you immediately, but let him make that decision."

"...Very well. But I am only agreeing to this, Severus, because I know you are the best thing for him, especially considering your experience..."

"No doubt." Severus nodded in semi-sarcastic agreement. "I'm surprised the boy has been so subdued. Perhaps you were right and he no longer thinks ill of me the way he did."

"I'm very glad to hear it, Severus. I am very grateful that he has you- that I have you." The headmaster reached out his free hand to place on his pupil's shoulder. "Thank you, my boy."

Severus sighed, but it was not dismissing in any way. It simply told the headmaster how tired Severus was. Albus was no fool, and he knew full well how much Severus gave of himself- perhaps even more than Albus did of _himself_. He had great respect for this man. Very few had the strength or courage it took to make amends for their faults.

Severus was indeed a rarity.

_xxx_

Author's Note:

-I am terribly sorry about the winded, unintegrated description; if you chose to skip over it I understand. I'm also aware there is some really bat-shit use of pronouns here, and I kind of just threw up my hands afterward. So, yeah, I am thoroughly embarrassed by this piece of writing, and no I don't have it in me to try to fix it right now.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Harry felt numb, and he looked it.

Dudley had certainly not missed the blank and empty stare that had been fixed on him. He wasn't really sure why _him_ though_,_ after all, it was his mum's words- not his- that had Harry looking so impassive if anything.

If Dudley couldn't understand Harry's deadpan expression, he definitely had no hope of understanding his mum's explanation of her behavior, nor the complicated relationship that had stemmed between his and Harry's parents and Professor Snape... Though where _that _was concerned at least he _knew_ he couldn't understand it; Dudley had never loved anyone the way his mum and Professor Snape and Lily and James had loved and hated each other. He'd never had a real sibling even (here he looked guiltily at Harry again); maybe Harry should have been that sibling.

A very large part of Dudley felt the need to apologize to Harry for it, but something inside of him told him it would be in vain. There was no apology he could offer that would really mean anything. He could see the shortfall of his mum's apology clearly, so why would his be any different? Maybe Harry claimed to have forgiven his aunt, but Dudley recognized it couldn't be that simple. He would _show_ Harry he was different before he would tell him anything (though Dudley decided upon this not out of a wisdom that words were often empty, but simply because he was a boy of very few words to begin with, _less_ articulate than average). The fact that he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he _had_ changed and that it _would_ come to light sooner or later kept him from feeling any pressure about it (and, really, it was safe to say that while he may have been inarticulate, he certainly was not impatient).

Yet, at the same time, Dudley had already taken in enough for the day. There was already a multitude of mental and emotional _garbage _he'd swept under the rug, and his mind was going to start getting really messy if he didn't put a stop to all these revelations _now._

He pushed up from the ground, looking down his nose at Harry and his mum.

"I'm going to go play _Iron Gears_."

Harry nodded deftly, standing and following him out. Dudley glanced at his cousin and considered saying something to him as they crossed the hall, but Harry still had a stony look on his face. Dudley shrugged before turning away and disappearing into his room; he didn't want to interrupt any deep thought, considering all that his mother had just dumped on Harry. Actually, she had dumped quite a lot on him, too.

While Dudley played video games, sprawled across the bed, he thought about the fact that his mother didn't love his father- not really. It somehow superseded any of the abuse his father had perpetrated, and left him feeling more hollow and misplaced than anything ever had. _They might as well get divorced,_ Dudley thought sardonically, unaware of his naiveté, as is natural.

He played _Iron Gears_ a little harder.

_xxx_

In the room adjacent, Harry lay on his bed as well, though not sprawled as his cousin was, but rather contained to the edge of the bed, as still and stiff as a board. He stared deftly at the ceiling, as if he were waiting for it to begin a conversation with him, though in his mind the conversation was already over. There was nothing to be said about anything.

He didn't need to think about Aunt Petunia and that he _wanted _to forgive her (that he _should_) and, that even though he'd said he did, maybe he didn't.

He couldn't forgive his aunt...

He couldn't forgive his aunt, and then he'd lied about it... He was pathetic. He didn't deserve Aunt Petunia's love if that's what he resorted to in order to get it.

He could physically feel his chest clench at the thought of it. _Unconditional love_. He'd never known it. Sirius had been the only one, but he was gone, just like that; the suddenness of it still shocked him.

Harry flopped over onto his belly so his face was buried in the pillows.

Again he found himself wishing that he had been the one to fall through the veil and not Sirius... He would give anything to trade places. He didn't even know why; he wasn't suicidal, he just- he just didn't see the point in his life other than to overthrow Voldemort. It wasn't as if he didn't have people who cared about him, either, but somehow that didn't change anything. Harry reached up and pulled his glasses off. Maybe, he thought, it was because he hated himself; maybe, he was really just unlovable- he didn't deserve _any _love at all.

Because Sirius wasn't just gone.

He was gone because of Harry.

That was why. That was why he needed to trade places with Sirius. When he thought about it, it made him want to hide, to disappear. He didn't want anyone to see him or to know what he had done (he was so ashamed), and even more, he didn't want anyone to to tell him it wasn't his fault because it _was_. And he didn't want them pitying him or any of that. Nothing was ever going to make it right. Ever. Not until he was left to despair, alone, and without any pretenses of friendship or family to hinder him; he needed to submerge in it, and until he did, he had to continuously push Sirius' death to the wayside. It was only permissible- _possible_- because he _knew_ beyond a shadow of a doubt there would come a day when no one and nothing would stand in the way of him feeling and falling into his grief- and no one would ever pick him up out of it once he did.

But, as was typical when he thought about Sirius- even if it was for a moment- Harry found himself reliving the day at the ministry, mapping in his mind every wrong step he had taken. He thought of Kreacher at Grimmuald Place... He wanted to kill that elf. If he ever saw him again he just might. He was almost afraid of the possibility of that happening if he ever went back there- to Sirius's home. He didn't know if he could, but now it looked as if he might _have_ to. They couldn't very well stay at _Snape Manor_. He nearly felt like a lamb in a lion's den, the only discrepancy being that Aunt Petunia seemed to fit right in. After seeing what he had in Snape's pensieve last year and after what Aunt Petunia had just told him... his solid impression of Snape really seemed to be crumbling; it was almost as disruptive as being moved from Privet Drive. _Well_, he thought, _we won't be staying here. If Aunt Petunia doesn't find a hotel or rental in a couple of days I'll mention Grimmuald Place. I don't have to figure any of this out._

His mind was a sort of limbo he existed in, and he was in it for the next hour or two, trying not to make sense of anything, utterly unaware of his surroundings until a muffled pop penetrated his thoughts, and he lifted his head, hoping his face wasn't red or his eyes too puffy.

"Mister Harry Potter," Pockey said with a low bow. "Master has sent Pockey. Master says for today Mister Harry Potter does not need to come down to dinner; Pockey will bring dinner here if he likes."

"When is dinner?" Harry asked as he reached for his glasses.

"Pockey will serve dinner in an hour."

"Okay." Harry nodded, sitting up. "I'll come down." In all honestly, Harry was grateful for the distraction. Part of him didn't feel he had the right to just put Sirius from his mind (though there _was_ the promise he had made to himself to mourn him, unbidden, even if the grief- and he _knew _it would be- might be enough to overtake him), but he couldn't succumb just right then; even more, a frightening large part of him was desperate to escape the timeless dissociation for as long as he possibly could, to perpetuate and prolong this equally miserable state of denial. He just wanted to forget _everything_; he just wanted to be free.

Pockey bowed again, leaving Harry sitting at the foot of the bed, collecting himself.

_xxx_

The house elf popped into Petunia's room next.

"Misses, the Master has sent Pockey." He bowed, "Master has invited Misses to dinner, but Master saying Misses can have dinner served here today if Misses pleases."

Petunia who had been napping atop the covers, shifted and turned to face the small creature, the top of his head level with the height of the bed. She looked over at him, frowning in her sleepy state.

"I'll have dinner here tonight, if that's okay," Petunia said. She could feel her stomach knotting at the thought of eating with Severus. After all that had happened, now that she had regained her mind a little, she didn't think she had it in her to face the butterflies and heart pounding (if that was indeed still going to be her reaction when she was in the same room as him; it _hadn't_ been before, but Petunia had been in shock then... No... Whether it would or wouldn't, she simply needed some more time to collect herself).

Pockey bowed low, "Yes, Ma'am. Pockey will serve dinner in one hour."

"Thank you," Petunia replied politely, but Pockey had already popped out.

_xxx_

He reappeared in the hallway, his hands wringing the hem of his ratty shirt. He stood outside Dudley's door, summoning his courage. What if the boy yelped again? Pockey didn't know how to serve the young master any better, and he was afraid his poor nerves couldn't handle any more alarm.

Pockey knocked; at least this way he would not be surprised.

"Come in," he heard through the door, and Pockey reached his hands above his head to grip the doorknob, turning it, and pushing the door open with his body; then he stepped into the room.

"Master sends Pockey," the elf repeated, keeping his eyes to the floor after offering up a short bow. "Master says Mister Dudley can eat here today, or Pockey will serve dinner in one hour."

"Huh," Dudley said, laying down his video game completely to sit up, his legs dangling off the bed. "I'll come down," he said.

"Very well," Pockey said, bowing.

"Say," Dudley spoke up before the elf could pop out again, and Pockey drew his hands up in front of his chest, bracing himself. "Why do you wear such a filthy shirt?"

"Unm?" Pockey made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "Pockey has always worn this," the house elf said, his hands wringing each other.

"But... Doesn't the Professor ever give you new clothes?"

"Oh!" Pockey cried in distress, his elephant ears flapping a bit at that. "Never! If Master gives Pockey clothes, Pockey will be _free_!"

"What?" Dudley looked stupidly at the wide-eyed creature before him.

"If house elf is given clothes, house elf is free."

"You make it sound like you don't want to be freed," Dudley pointed out.

"Pockey doesn't want to be freed. Serving is Pockey's life. All elves serve."

"But... that's like slavery."

"No." Pockey shook his head, speaking with more conviction now than Dudley had heard from him since meeting. "Honor is in serving. Pockey will serve."

"What honor?" Dudley asked, bitingly. Apparently his tone had been too sharp because the house elf visibly flinched. Dudley winced himself a little at the sensitivity of the creature. "Sorry," he apologized immediately and tried again, this time in a softer voice. "How is serving honorable?"

Bowing, the squeaky reply came: "Because Pockey does not think of himself."

"That doesn't make sense," Dudley said, scratching his head.

Pockey cocked his head to one side, his large ears flopping again. "What is honorable for Mister Dudley?"

Dudley look flummoxed, but he gave the question serious thought. "Er... I guess standing up for your family. Telling the truth. Oh, and joining the army, too."

"When mister is standing up for family, he is serving family. When mister is telling truth, he is serving person he tells truth. When mister joins army, he is serving country."

"Oh." Dudley was dumbfounded "...What about serving myself?"

Pockey shrugged his small, bony shoulders.

"Yeah, actually, aren't you serving _yourself_ in a way? You get something out of serving, after all."

"But Pockey doesn't do it for self. And Pockey keeps serving even when Pockey is _not_ happy."

"You aren't always happy serving?" Dudley asked curiously.

Pockey simply made another strangled noise in the back of his throat.

"Pockey will not speak poorly of master."

"That's not what I was asking!" Dudley protested. "But what's the point in serving all the time if you aren't happy? Honor isn't the most important thing."

"Happiness not most important thing," Pockey pointed out. "Most important that Pockey is being okay."

"_Being okay?_" Dudley scoffed, "How is honor and being okay the same thing?"

"Because Pockey do good, Pockey feel- no, Pockey _is_ good. Then Pockey is being okay. Maybe Pockey is not being happy, but Pockey never being unhappy. Pockey is being..." the house elf seemed to be searching for a word, but when he was unable to place it, Dudley guessed.

"Content?"

He watched as the house elf's face lit up. "Content!"

"Huh."

Pockey nodded merrily.

"Well," Dudley spoke then, conversation finished but not forgotten. He got up from the edge of the bed, readjusting his oversized jean shorts and untwisting his too large t-shirt from around his body. "Lets go down, I guess."

It had been some time since Pockey had last walked up or down the stairs, but he followed the muggle boy without question, strangely enjoying the mundane task and the simple service of providing companionship; he had done much the same with his master over the years- it was nothing too new, however his master had never shown the same curiosity about Pockey as Dudley had, though there was not a doubt in Pockey's mind that his master loved him and appreciated him dearly.

Anyway, Mister Dudley appeared to be over his bought of curiosity. He walked silently down the stairs, Pockey bouncing down after him. At the landing, Mister dudley stopped and let Pockey go ahead of him; he seemed to have forgotten the way to the dining room or at least unsure about walking in unannounced, so Pockey went ahead. His master was sitting at the dining table with a newspaper unfolded before him, with a cold cup of tea from sometime ago forgotten on the table. There was also a parchment, quill, and ink. It was unusual for Pockey's Master to set up at the dining table, but Pockey knew it was done for the benefit of his guests. Pockey smiled up in appreciation; he truly believed the best of Severus Snape.

"Mister Dudley is here, master." Pockey bowed. "And Mister Harry Potter will come shortly. Misses Dursley will take dinner upstairs tonight."

"Very well," the Professor replied glancing over the top of his newspaper. Dudley was beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable and more than a little bit nervous, fidgeting on the spot. He hadn't considered that it would be just him and Harry's Professor, even for a small amount of time. What the hell was he going to say? Dudley watched Pockey reach up over the edge of the tables on his tiptoes to grab the Professor's teacup before simply disappearing; Dudley still could not help a slight flinch. It was so unnatural.

"Um." Dudley shifted his weight self-consciously again, recovered.

"Why don't you sit?" the Professor offered, gesturing to the left of him. He folded up his newspaper and put it on the table, and Dudley for the first time noticed the moving pictures on the front cover.

"Bloody hell," he said under his breath.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing... Sir," Dudley said, wide-eyed. He didn't think he had ever met anyone quite as intimidating and scary as Professor Snape, nor had he ever met anyone who demanded respect and good behavior without even really demanding it. "Sorry, sir," he finished lamely. He wondered briefly what Harry was like around the Professor. He thought if anyone had the balls to be pertinent towards this man, it would be Harry, but then, Dudley thought, even Harry seemed to know his place- at least where it came to his dad, Vernon. Dudley grimaced.

After a few moments of silence, Dudley decided it wasn't such a bad idea, either, to thank the Professor for what he had done earlier, that is, if they were just going to sit in silence, Professor Snape studying him as he was (and Dudley didn't imagine things could get any more awkward for him than that, unless of course the Professor turned around and told him he and his mum had a thing going on... Dudley suppressed another grimace).

"Well, about earlier... Thanks for helping my mum and Harry, Professor." Dudley was bouncing his leg up and down under the table and his hands were slung together in his lap. He was still staring at the moving pictures- a skull with a snake weaving in and out of it made of what looked like clouds hovering above a row of houses at night; the whole thing was set below bold letters at the top of the page, _Dark Mark Over Cloverdale_.When Dudley finally dared look up, he noticed Professor Snape had both his brows raised. _What?_ Dudley wanted to snap. He didn't. In fact, he even managed to keep his expression from screwing up into something he knew would be interpreted along the lines of _Are you stupid?_ though such was his natural reaction when made to feel awkward. He tried instead to correct the only thing in his expression of gratitude he thought could be construed as improper; "Thank you?" When the Professor still only looked at him, Dudley tried yet again. "Thank you for helping my mum and cousin," said in one concise and complete sentence. His leg had stopped bouncing under the table. Still the Professor only blinked owlishly at him. Dudley frowned at his hands in his lap confused and put out, drawing back a little in his chair.

"I- I can't say I was expecting your gratitude," the Professor finally said, his voice markedly deeper than Dudley's, but sounding kind. "I certainly don't think you owe me it."

"What?" Dudley looked up stupidly. So the Professor had been _surprised_? That, he thought, had _not_ looked like surprise. It had looked more like... Well, it hadn't really looked like anything, he decided.

"That is, I didn't do anything that wasn't... required or necessary," the Professor finished.

"You still chose to do it," Dudley shrugged, putting his arms on the table, which he noticed by the flick of the Professor's eyes downwards, was plainly noticed; how it was interpreted, though, he could not say.

"Often one does not feel one has a choice."

"Er, right." Dudley didn't say anything to that, not sure what the Professor was getting at. He was beginning to think, though, that the austere man- bloody weird though he may be- wasn't _so_ hard to get along with.

"Can I look at that?" Dudley asked, pointing to the newspaper.

"You certainly _can_; whether you _may_ is a different matter, however," the Professor answered in an extra smooth voice.

Dudley felt like rolling his eyes or shaking his head in disgust, but before he could look away from the Professor he caught something similar to amusement messing around in his very black eyes, and decided he was likely just being mocked; he _had_ been pretty patronizing himself earlier, being presumptuous enough to think that because this man was a teacher that meant he was also unnaturally proper, when he'd really only been surprised- though it didn't have so much to do with the fact that he was a teacher as it did with the fact that the man actually _was_ unnaturally proper.

"_May_ I?" he asked instead.

"You may." The Professor nodded. Dudley reached over and picked up the paper, studying the picture on the front cover, making like he was going to flip the page; instead he inspected the thickness of it, confirming that the pictures really was moving by some force of magic and not some incredibly advanced technology- maybe even alien technology. Dudley was a boy who had had very little denied him in his lifetime, and a boy who, like most, immensely enjoyed the world of science fiction and fantasy- his cousin being a wizard had certainly drawn his attention, if not his envy on a more than a few occasions, and if not for the taboo on magic in his home, Harry certainly would have known it (as it was Dudley had played his part and made like magic was the most repulsive thing in the world- when he wasn't pretending it didn't exist in the first place)... Instead he had snuck into the cupboard under the stairs one night (Harry locked away in the upstairs spare bedroom) and inspected Harry's wizard books. Of course he'd read what he could of them, but had quickly lost interest as a great deal of the information had been well beyond his comprehension- information about the interaction between this plant and that plant, properties of this or that potion, consequences of improper incantation, and the various causalities associated with specific wand maneuvers... If he recalled correctly that had been the potions and charms texts respectively. Then he had found the history text, and that had entertained him a while longer, but Dudley had always hated history... Even the greatest stories were bearable at best when the retelling was punctuated with date after irrelevant date. So, he'd put it back after reading a little about the Goblin Wars, and then he'd found defense against the dark arts: _Creatures of the Night_. He'd read almost the entire book, and Dudley rarely read books. The strangely plausible descriptions of werewolves, vampires, chimeras, et cetera, had both captivated and fascinated him. That had been just after Harry's second year, if he was not mistaken, and he had waited anxiously for each summer to peruse the rest of Harry's texts, though the next year, one book had almost eaten him, and the others had very little information on magical creatures. Those books had had diagrams and pictures, sure. But those books had not had moving pictures.

_Dark Mark Over Cloverdale,_ Dudley read again, and he quickly skimmed the article.

"Cloverdale's a magic community? Or just a few families?" Dudley asked, because he hadn't realized it could be. He knew some regular people who lived in Cloverdale, or what he thought were regular people (which was his reason for asking what he had). From the article he learned that a family of five with just the mother and the children being magical (not the husband and father) had been attacked, the parents killed, and the children currently missing without any leads as to their whereabouts and no certain motivation for the kidnapping; Dudley assumed this had something to do with the war that Harry and everyone was always going on about. He wondered if his family could possibly be a target because they were all mixed up too, half magic and half not.

"There is a concentration of wizarding kind there, yes, however it is not exclusively a wizarding community," the Professor confirmed.

"What is this?" Dudley asked, pointing at the picture.

"The mark of the Dark Lord," the Professor informed, glancing somberly at the paper.

"He had these kids abducted? And the parents killed?"

"Yes."

Dudley frowned. He wanted to ask _why_, but somehow felt the question or the answer wasn't going to be adequate, or at least that now was not the time to ask, or maybe even that this was not the _person_ to be asking...

"Have you never talked to your cousin about any of this?" the Professor asked, and Dudley looked up, a little taken aback.

"No." He shook his head, like it was utterly incomprehensible, because to Dudley it was. "Dad _hates_ magic. We aren't allowed to talk about it all, and that's _if_ Harry and I had ever talked in the first place. We never got along. It was kind of hard to with my parents and all." Dudley shrugged feeling the familiar stab of guilt in him again.

"He's almost a brother to you, though, is he not?"

"No. Not really," Dudley admitted. "I feel bad about it, though... I picked on him."

"I was an only child," the Professor volunteered.

"Did you ever bully anyone?" Dudley asked.

"Not when I was young." The Professor deadpanned.

Dudley grinned, and then started laughing, and it was this unexpected scene that Harry found himself intruding upon.

"Harry!" Dudley called, lighting up, though by this time, he belatedly realized, he was completely at ease with Professor Snape. It only took a moment for his cousin's drawn look to register with him after that; Harry's skin had taken on an unhealthy pallor, and his eyes were hooded and dull. He faltered. "Is everything alright?" he asked.

"What? M'fine," Harry mumbled, taking a seat at the table across from Professor Snape, who, Dudley noticed was looking at Harry with the same frown he wore, if not a milder version of it.

"You don't look so great," Dudley pointed out, but he was no longer scrutinizing his cousin, rather looking uncomfortably at the paper, unsure if Harry would be angry with him for meddling.

"Dudley, is that the _Prophet_?"

"What?" Dudley looked at the top of the page at the fancy scrawled _Prophet_, and answered, "Oh, yeah. I suppose it is."

"Can I see it?" Harry held out his hand, seeming animated for the first time.

"Yeah." Dudley shrugged and handed the paper to the eagerly waiting Harry.

"Thanks," he muttered before diving into the paper.

Dudley looked over at the Professor who had his lips slightly pursed as he watched Harry.

"Sir," Harry said. "I wanted to speak to you... about resuming occulmency lessons." Harry looked up at Professor Snape while Dudley looked back and forth between the two, the Professor's gaze was still unwavering on Harry.

"You wish to resume occulmency lessons?" he repeated, his voice very quiet.

"Yes," Harry nodded, "I take full responsibility for everything that's happened." He couldn't quite bring himself to apologize though- this was Snape after all, the man he hated, if for no better reason than he made Harry feel bad for being mistaken about him, which he had yet to admit to himself anyway. Not hating Snape was unnatural... He simply didn't know how to act otherwise.

"Have you considered going to Professor Dumbledore with this request?"

"Professor Dumbledore, sir?"

"You heard me, Potter," the Professor snapped. Harry could feel his hackles rising, a familiar feeling.

"Yeah, but Professor Dumbledore had his reasons for having you teach me the first time around. And... actually, now that I've experienced what it's like, I'd rather not have anyone else messing around in my mind." Harry's eyes dropped to the table, plus he was mad at Dumbledore still, for as Snape had put it, raising him like a lamb to slaughter. The headmaster's tears meant nothing- Harry had shed a thousand more. "Plus I'm here, so..."

"You wish to resume your lessons over the summer?" There was a small measure of surprise in the Professor's voice. Then he rushed to add, "For what little time you'll be here, that is."

"Yes, sir, and maybe even once Aunt Petunia moves us out we can arrange a time. I've been practicing clearing my mind on my own, but I don't think I can make anymore progress without someone to use legilimens on me. If you can't do it once we leave- even if we're only here for a few days- and that's all you can help with- well, anything is better than nothing."

Severus inhaled deeply, recognizing that Potter was right: there was only so much he could do on his own. Then he exhaled, his breath a means of steadying his unbalanced mind and summoning his courage when needed.

"Have you completed your school assignments yet?"

"Not all." In truth he had only two papers left.

"You'll finish your homework first, and then we'll discuss it," Severus ruled. He hoped by the time Potter had finished his work Albus would have the lot out of his home, and he wouldn't have to think of it again- if he was lucky, which he rarely was.

Potter, he noted had gone back to reading the paper, while Dursley was scrutinizing him. Severus contained a sneer, reminding himself that these boys had suffered abuse not unlike the abuse he had suffered as a child, and snapping at them was going to accomplish nothing.

"And you?" he questioned.

"Me what?"

"Have you any school work to do?"

"Er, no," Dursley said, looking like he was torn between wanting school work and not wanting school work, if only for something to occupy his time. What he didn't realize was that by no means was Severus going to let him sit idly in his house.

"...You wouldn't happen to have some spare paper, would you?" Dursley asked after a moment. Severus glanced down at his parchment and quill, the latter of which he had been absently toying with. The parchment had only a few scribbled notes on it, nothing of consequence, so Severus drew his hand over it and the ink disappeared with a bit of wandless magic. He pushed the stationery supplies over to Dursley. The boy gave the lot a a queer look, but picked up the quill anyway. He began to doodle and scribble, seemingly taken with the quill and ink.

"It's archaic!" he exclaimed looking up, his choice of word somewhat at odds with his enthusiastic delight.

"Indeed," Severus drawled. It was soon after that that Pockey arrived with the dinnerware and the papers were set aside by either boy, the meal being eaten mostly in silence, but it was comfortable enough. Potter disappeared from the dining table almost immediately afterwards, standing apathetically to the side of his chair.

"Thank you. Good night." His voice was disturbingly void, his eyes equally so.

Unexpectedly enough, Dursley remained in Severus's company for another couple of hours drawing pictures and writing his name in what he apparently thought passed for calligraphy; soon he turned to drawing mustaches on the moving pictures of people in the _Prophet_, once he had finished reading the rest of it- including the wizard's ads.

Severus himself summoned his procedural outline for a theoretical potion he as working on, studying it once more, scribbling additional notes and questions on top of what he already had written there- it was his third time appraising this particular outline. Once or twice he looked up at Dursley, unsure if he should say anything, or if he should attempt to prod the boy for information on Potter, but decided against it. He wasn't in a particularly talkative mood (not that he ever really was), and he was surprisingly enjoying the _quiet _companionship, which was only interrupted periodically by some fragment of a comment made by the (naïve) boy, mundane things like, 'House elves don't need a wand,' and 'I think it'd be cool to be a vampire.' Severus couldn't be impassioned to do more than grunt in return most of the time, but on the rare occasion he _did_ reply it was always in the name of education, for instance, "I assure you, Mr. Dursley, it is not be 'cool' to be a vampire." For a self-proclaimed bully Severus thought the boy was remarkably accepting of his consistent dissent (in the name of education though it may be), for those were the only occasions Severus could be moved to comment. His opinion of Dursley was certainly not diminished by it.

_xxx_

Petunia spent the evening equally engaged. Naturally her mind was put towards the predicament she found herself and her family in, though Petunia had long since put thoughts of the past from her mind; she instead found herself considering the future: Where would they go? What would they do? What would happen to Vernon, her and the boys, their home? While she picked disinterestedly at her dinner plate the thoughts ran rampant in her mind- she made no real headway organizing her mind. Eventually she gave up eating, however, and strode over to the desk. She sat down self-consciously, working up the courage to open up the drawers, going against her ingrained sense of propriety and decorum. Thankfully there was nothing personal or offensive inside them; in fact, they were entirely bare, that is except for the very thing Petunia had hoped to find: paper and pen- or rather, quill and ink; Petunia had practiced with quill before, however, and wasn't phased in the least. She took out the supplies and set them on the desk top, settling in before scribbling across the top of the first page on the stack, _To do..._ It struck Petunia how wrong it felt to use the same heading she had been using for years to keep track of household chores: one list for herself which included errands and such; the other comprised of all the simple tasks- for Harry. She made a face and crossed out the heading, pausing before scrawling this time, _Things I must see to very soon..._ It didn't take her long at all to have a good number of general points down on the parchment, ones which Petunia meditated on individually after they were all laid out before her, jotting down only a few of the pertinent details.

The foremost bullet was followed by,_ Thank Severus._ Should she get a card, a gift? Should she thank him at all? It seemed like the kind of thing he wouldn't want to be thanked for. It could be awkward- awkward for him, awkward for her. Personally she wanted to pretend none of it had ever happened. Severus would understand that. Petunia thought back on the way she had reacted when _she_ found out about _Severus_' home life. Had she reacted poorly? No... She didn't think she had. If anyone had it had been Lily. Petunia had hardly acknowledged it, never said it outright anyway. It was a relief to her. Now that she could put herself in his shoes she knew she had reacted the way he must have wanted. Which he hadn't done in return, per se. Actually, Petunia didn't know what she'd wanted- to be saved or left there, her secrets still her own. The right thing was not in this case the easy thing. Not at all. She felt so weak for what was done to her and her weakness was exposed which made her weaker still, made her wounds- her hurt- greater. And she couldn't see them ever healing. She was tainted by the humiliation the shame and the suppressed rage. She wasn't the same person anymore. She was less than. Petunia's hand shook somewhat over the parchment as she took a deep breath. She couldn't forgive Vernon, and she couldn't forgive herself, and so how was she supposed to be okay? How was she supposed to let it go? Live beyond it?

Petunia glanced down the list then. All of the points following were somewhat related; one could not be done without the other, and she had no real idea in what order to see to them.

_Visit the bank (Freeze joint account, withdraw money)._

_Find a job (Put together resume and cover letter)._

_Find a place to live (Move?)._

_Get a lawyer, get divorced._

_Press charges? Visit police station._

_Get a car?_

As badly as she wanted to forget her previous thoughts, these thing Petunia did _not_ want to think about, but then she'd procrastinated long enough (all afternoon, to be precise, which she failed to recognize wasn't unreasonable); the longer she put it off the more anxious she grew, being uncertain of the future. It was no longer something she could shove to the wayside. No one was going to look after her- more importantly, no one was going to help her care for her two charges.

Thinking about it and writing it all out, however, did little to ease Petunia's anxiety. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was about to step into a life where _want_ would no longer be within scope, let alone control. She would have to find a job immediately, and considering she had gone to school so many years ago and had accumulated next to no work experience in the interim, it was unlikely she would find _any _work- at least not the type that would support a family of three. Most employers were looking for people with post-secondary education, and Petunia had only a diploma in accounting to her name, while her competitors would no doubt all have bachelors degrees or better. The job market she knew, despite her lack involvement over the last few years, was fiercer than ever, wages down and the cost of living up. She didn't know how she would support her family. In the divorce- because there undoubtably would be one now (if Vernon refused to sign the papers she could very well expect Severus to _persuade_ him to do so)- she would be given either the house or child support. Considering Dudley would be an adult in two years and Vernon would no longer have to pay it made more sense to keep the house, even if she did sell it right away. Petunia couldn't see staying at Privet Drive, not now. Down-sizing would decrease her responsibilities, and then she could give the boys- and herself- a real fresh start, maybe even save a few thousand in the move. In the mean time Petunia would need to get to a bank and sort out her accounts. She would also need to see a lawyer right away. Maybe file a police report, press charges. It was all going to take quite some time... Contacting a realtor would have to wait until the legal and financial dealings concluded. And somewhere in there she would have to fit in preparing a resume and cover letter and pursuing employment. A car would have to wait.

_Harry's birthday, _she added to the list. That was in just two days. She would need a gift. Maybe she could put together dinner and a cake. Maybe she should talk to Severus about it, or ask Harry if he would like to make a trip out somewhere, maybe invite some of his school friends.

Then Petunia moved back to the top of the page and beside, _Thank Severus,_ wrote, _Consult with Severus on the following. _She felt like she was in over her head, and the fact that she didn't have Vernon- another adult- to talk with was surprisingly significant to her. Even if Severus couldn't very well offer advice or insight where muggle matters were concerned, she just needed someone to hear her out. And he needed to know her plans, anyway, considering she was currently living under his roof, eating his food.

Down at the bottom of the list she added, _Contact friends._ Not that she wanted any of them to know. They were all married, and their husbands were all friendly with Vernon. No doubt they would take her side... but still. There was something uncomfortable about it. Petunia didn't see herself keeping in touch anymore, actually, but she owed them some explanation of what was going on, and why she was about to drop out of their lives. Or maybe she _shouldn't _say anything. Maybe she didn't have to. It wasn't like she would ever see them again if she didn't want to. But it would be good have some support. Although, she didn't want to tell them about Vernon; the very thought of it had her stomach clenching again.

Petunia sighed, pushing the parchment away and setting down her quill.

She prepared for the night after that, and lay for hours in bed, wide awake and mind amuck with fragments of her newly 'organized' mind. When she finally did fall asleep she tossed and turned restlessly.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Petunia spent the entire night anxious for the morning. At dawn she rose, showered and dressed, and, after reviewing her to do list, she found she was starving and very much ready for the day ahead of her, giddy to be starting over, free again. She ventured downstairs, quite sure the boys were still sleeping, though she was unsure whether Severus had grown into a morning person or not. She was surprised to see him sitting at the dining table with a cup of coffee fixed to his mouth; he looked like death incarnate, and Petunia could feel her face grow stony as she tried desperately not to smile at the sight or- even worse- laugh.

"Good morning, Severus," she said after a moment, moving to sit at the table, hanging her purse on the back of the chair beside her. The room was still dark, pale light of the rising sun still obscure somewhere behind the trees out in front of the manor.

Severus made a guttural noise in the back of his throat, his eyes wide and blood shot staring intently at the middle of the table without seeing it.

_Not a morning person then,_ Petunia thought, wondering, too, just what he was doing out of bed it that were the case.

_I suppose I should give it a moment before I assuage him with my plans._

"Pockey," Severus murmured behind his mug, and the house elf popped in, Petunia jumping slightly. Severus gestured in her direction vaguely with one hand, and the house elf turned to bow at her.

"Oh," Petunia said, not quite sure what to say or do with herself.

"What would Misses like for breakfast?" Pockey asked.

"Oh," Petunia said again, "Anything would be fine. A cup of coffee would be nice, also."

Pockey bowed, and before Petunia could say thank you he had popped out, though he was back a moment later with a cup of steaming coffee on a tray along with sugar, milk, and cream.

"Pockey will be right back with breakfast for the Master and Misses," and he was gone.

Petunia fixed her coffee the way she liked it- one milk and one sugar- and then she and Severus sat in silence, sipping on their cups. Severus visibly grew more alert, blinking more often, adjusting his posture, and eventually glancing at her. He was still in pajamas- dark grey cotton boxer shorts and slippers of the same colour on his feet, with a ragged white t-shirt, and a matching white night-cap (it looked like something Santa would wear, Petunia thought) covering the top portion of his head and all but the ends of his hair which hung in knots around his shoulders.

Eventually Petunia's eye and his met, and she provided him a small smile.

"I like your night cap," she offered tentatively. Apparently this was the wrong this to say because Severus immediately stiffened and ripped it off his head. His hair was an atrocious mess beneath it, the majority messed about his face, a hair tie just barely hanging in at the nape of his neck around a small collection of hair. He looked like an overgrown teenager.

"I like your dress," he snapped sarcastically, and Petunia looked down at her pastel-blue, fitted dress with a frown.

"I wasn't being sarcastic," Petunia replied.

"...Then nor was I."

She decided he acted like a teenager, too- at least in the morning. She rolled her eyes.

"What are you doing up at this time?" she asked him; that it was obviously an unusual occurrence for him went unstated.

"I have an urgent package arriving with the post today," he told her. Petunia knew it was a lie. What she didn't know was why she bothered asking.

"...Did you sleep well?"

Petunia hesitated, but ultimately decided to be honest, "No."

Severus only nodded, understanding.

"Plans for the day?" he drawled.

"In fact, yes," Petunia said, standing up and stepping around to slip the list from out of her black purse pocket hanging off the back of the chair beside her. When she took her seat again, she curled one bare foot, beneath her, though it was quite warm considering the sun was hardly up, still early morning. She looked down at her list and read the first few notes out loud, noting the top point, _Thank Severus,_ and deciding she would do that later. "Get to a bank, go shopping for a few select items, and see lawyer, perhaps the police. I'm not sure what the process is with this sort of thing. Anyway, once I get to the bank and find out about my finances and talk to a lawyer about the divorce proceedings, I'll be able to let you know when we'll be out."

Severus nodded thoughtfully, "How will you be getting into town?"

"I was hoping you might have a number that I could ring for a muggle taxi."

"I do. Though it isn't too far into town, maybe a fifteen, twenty-minute walk."

"Perfect, I'll walk then," her hands warming around her cup where she'd placed it on the table in front of her came away and back again in a light clap.

"I would accompany you, but I have a potion to brew for one of my employers. It's urgent business, I'm sure you understand."

Petunia nodded, "Of course. I wouldn't want your life disrupted anymore than it already has been. If you could just write down directions, maybe? And your address?" Petunia flipped over her paper and slid it over to Severus, reaching into her purse once more for a pen, which she then also sent across the table. Severus took up the pen and scrawled out a map quickly enough, and then slid it back to her. When she picked it up, she noticed he had written out the directions, his address, and his phone number, so she wouldn't have to get it off the phone before leaving.

The small amount of help had her confiding earnestly, "This is all very... stressful."

"I imagine so," Snape drawled, his voice still rough from disuse over the albeit short night, "Unfortunately I cannot provide you any insight where muggle finances and law are concerned. What items are you looking to purchase?"

"Actually, that was something I wanted to discuss with you also. I'll purchase Harry some new clothes, though now he has his school clothes at least. Also, his birthday is the day after tomorrow, so I'd like to get him a present. I was wondering- I mean hopefully we'll have settled somewhere else by that point- but did you want to participate in his birthday celebration? Or else I wondering if... maybe you thought it would be a possibility to get in touch with some of his school friends?"

"Petunia, first of all, I do not celebrate birthdays. Second of all, his friends cannot be involved. It would be too much of a risk for them to visit, let alone for you to contact them without some type of secure means. In fact, there would be no way for you to do so- _I_ would have to, which most certainly is _not_ an appealing idea."

"Oh," Petunia laughed a little awkwardly, "Well, it was just a thought. Me and Dudley can come up with something else."

"Good," Severus nodded, "Speaking of, do the two of them normally sleep in?"

"No," Petunia shook her head, considering Harry's usual routine. She had no doubt he would if he could, though perhaps it would take him a few days to adjust. Dudley usually slept late, but after all the upheaval Petunia didn't expect it of him either. If their nights had been anything like hers, they'd be vying to escape their beds as well.

It was just as she was thinking this that Harry stumbled into the room, his glasses pushed up to his forehead while he rubbed one eye with a fist. His hair was as messy as usual, and his button up white cotton school pajamas were twisted about him, his feet bare. He stopped at the end of the table and adjusted his glasses, looking over his aunt and professor, who were looking over at him with the same passive, mild sort of interest.

"G'morning," he mumbled, taking a seat, his chest and arms pressed into the table's edge as he slouched forward.

"Potter, you look atrocious."

Harry looked up at his professor, glaring full on, "You expect me to make myself presentable for breakfast like at school?"

"That would be preferable," Snape glared back.

"Severus, you aren't exactly presentable either," Petunia pointed out, sensing the impending argument.

Severus blinked once, twice. He glanced down at himself, and, if he were any other person, he might have blushed. Instead he stared down the pair before him, a dull look taking over his features.

_This is _my _house_, he thought_._

After a moment of this, the table was abruptly covered with food: eggs and bacon, toast with several jams and other condiments, and a bowl of whole fruits.

Pockey appeared between Severus and Petunia. "Pockey will fetch Mister Dudley," he said.

"Is he up?" Petunia asked, and the house elf nodded.

"Tell him not to bother changing or even washing his face," Harry groused, already shoveling eggs onto his plate, and ignoring the annoyed look thrown his way by Severus who was pondering the dramatic shift in character from stuttering boy to angsty teenager in the span of just one night. At least he had the boy's attitude at school as a rough guide for normal behavior, though.

Pockey bowed.

This time, when Pockey appeared, Dudley didn't jump; he was sitting on the edge of his bed and looking around as he tried to gain his bearings.

"Good morning," he greeted the elf.

Pockey bowed low again, and pulling his hands together in front of his chest, cheerfully related, "Breakfast is serving downstairs. Mister Dudley is to join the Master- but not to get dressed or to wash face."

Dudley frowned, "Okay..."

"Pockey will walk down with Mister Dudley," the elf turned and walked to the door, reaching up with both hands to turn the knob, and then leading the way down, only looking over his shoulder once to ensure he was being followed, pausing for a moment as Dudley hiked up his cotton pant legs and slipped on his socks.

Severus and Petunia were still serving themselves when Dudley walked in and took a seat, Pockey popping out. Dudley immediately went for the pumpkin juice, but waited to grab some food until after the professor and his Mother were done serving themselves. Harry, wolfing down his eggs, stopped, and looked over at Dudley, who wasn't really sure what the other boy wanted; he shrugged, and Harry shrugged back.

The rest of breakfast was silent, and it wasn't until the end that someone spoke up.

"I have homework to do," Harry said, pushing back from the table after the dishes had disappeared.

"Before you go, Potter," Snape said, and Harry sunk back into the chair, "Professor Dumbledore was here last night."

Severus paused to gauge the boy's reaction, and it was as he suspected. The boy stiffened ever so slightly, but there was not a trace of longing on his face. He didn't even bother asking what the headmaster had wanted.

"He is concerned about you, of course. He wishes to see you."

"But you told him no?" Harry guessed, frowning.

"I did. I told him I- or you- would contact him when you wish to see him. Is that acceptable? Will you do so?"

"Yeah," Harry said, picking at the hem of his shirt. He wasn't angry, he just couldn't bring himself to face the man, to talk about all this, and he knew if anyone was going to guilt him and pressure him into talking when he didn't want to, wasn't ready to, it was Albus Dumbledore; he still hadn't forgotten being locked in the man's office after returning from the ministry... But did Snape understand this? Because he didn't want Snape to tell the professor that he was angry with him or something (even if he was).

"I'll write him later," Harry dismissed the matter, and then he was gone to throw himself into his remaining schoolwork so he could begin occulmency lessons with Snape... He never thought he'd actually want to, but there it was.

Still seated at the table, Petunia asked, "I'm going into town, Dudley. Was there anything you needed?" Dudley looked upwards, thinking.

"No," he decided, and, "I'm going to go get ready." He followed after Harry.

That left Severus and Petunia in each other's company again.

"I should get to brewing, 'Tunia," he said, failing to notice his use of her nickname- yet again. Petunia on the other hand felt her cheeks heating.

"Of course," she said, sitting up straighter, now that she was about to make a move.

"Perhaps I can fit a nap in during the afternoon." He rose from the table, his eyes drooping a bit at the thought of a much needed nap.

Petunia couldn't help but stare at his bare legs, muscular and scattered with fine black hairs, exposed to her eyes now that they were no longer hidden beneath the table. She noticed a couple scars across his legs, had an embarrassing desire to reach out and stroke them, and looked away with a hot face, snatching up her purse and heading for the front door in something of a fluster. Severus trailed behind her, thinking nothing of it, taking the round about way to his office in order to see her out.

"I'll be back towards evening then," she said, taking out her map.

Severus nodded and held the door open for her, watching and appreciating Petunia as she slipped on her weave sandals, smiled up at him, and then moved out the door, down the steps, and the drive (until she was out of sight), her purse slung against her side, and her hips swaying a little with every step, clad in her snug-fitting blue dress.

_My my, what a woman little 'Tunia Dursley has become, _he thought, and finally shut the door on what was fast becoming a pleasant, sunny morning outside... _Lest it makes it's way in_, he thought sardonically.

He worked tirelessly for the next few hours, and eventually did sleep.

_xxx_

The same was true of Harry who worked vigorously on his homework, making significant progress, being interrupted once by Dudley before crashing, and taking a nap himself.

"What are you doing?" Dudley had asked, standing in the doorway of Harry's short-term bedroom. Harry looked over from his place at the desk.

"Home work. Gotta get it done."

"So you can have occular lessons."

"Occulmency, but yes," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck. He was still wearing his pajamas, and there were ink marks all over him from fiddling with his quill while he read.

"Oh," Dudley was curious about these occulmency lessons, but he could tell Harry did not want to talk, so he took a step back over the threshold into the hallway. "Well, I'm going to go find something to do."

Harry sighed, looking after his cousin as he turned and hurried off. Then he got up and shut the door halfway, laying down on the bed and facing the ceiling. He had no intention of falling asleep, and yet before he knew it two hours had passed. When he woke up again he frantically got back to work.

Dudley had played video games until he could take it no longer. Harry was his hope for some diversion, and finding his cousin still caught up in his homework was a great disappointment. He ended up in the living room soon after that without any real thought as to what to do there. He supposed he could ask the professor if he might have a look at some of his books- maybe some of them had pictures- but he knew the man to be working, and was, frankly, to intimidated by him to go barging into his study or lab to ask for permission. He supposed he could go exploring, but something told him Professor Snape wouldn't like that either. However, Dudley _did_ end up exploring in a manner of speaking. He ventured to the dining room, and then stood in the doorway to the hallway at the back to the house- the one that connected the basement stairs, Snape's labs, and library. He stood there, staring down the hallway, and then quickly moved down the stairs, superseding the chance to talk himself out of it. He took a left and walked hesitantly around the corner.

At the back of the room- the far right- Pockey, with his back towards Dudley, was standing at a miniature counter chopping vegetables and humming to himself. There was a pot of something broiling on the mini-stove; Dudley could smell it, salty and rich in flavors, wafting towards him. The entire kitchen was mini, he realized, looking more closely at the appliances- first the stove- and then the furnishings... All except the dishes that Pockey was working with and the fridge. The center of the room was quite large with nothing more than a worn, woven circular rug in the middle of it, and though the ceiling was a little lower, it was not too low that a human could not stand upright in the space; there were no windows, but a fire place directly on Dudley's left facing the kitchen, bringing warm life to the burnt, autumnal colours that pervaded the room (it was like stepping into fall, a bird's nest surrounded by browning leaves). Beside the fire there was a small wooden chair and on the other side of that a suspicious pile of raggedy blankets and a grey pillow- a makeshift bed if Dudley were not mistaken. The wall across from him was bear with a few wall hangings before the kitchen started; the one opposite, where Dudley stood in the doorway, was lined with several storage units, a multitude of things shut up in cupboards, armoires and dressers staked one in front of the other in a impractical- impossible- set up. There was a small table in front of that, with mini chairs surrounding it and a plate with several half eaten cookies on it and a cup of juice beside that.

"Pockey?" Dudley called out uncertainly.

"Hum, hum- hm?" Pockey's humming fell off when Dudley called him. His ears flopped wildly when he turned around.

"Mister Dudley! What can Pockey do for Mister? Mister need only have called!"

"Oh... No. I was just wondering if you... needed any help?"

"Help? Oh no, Mister Dudley! Pockey not be needing any help! What sort of house elf would Pockey be if he be needing help from Mister!" Pockey beamed at Dudley, his eyes squinting closed and making content noises.

"I know you don't need help, but maybe you _want_ help? There's nothing else for me to do," Dudley shrugged.

"Mister Dudley is bored?" Pockey's ears same forward like a sad dog's. Dudley shrugged again.

"Well..." Pockey wrung his shirt anxiously, "Oh... I... I suppose Mister Dudley can chop vegetables if he likes."

Pockey snapped his fingers and the food on the counter along with the tools appeared at the table where Pockey and Dudley soon sat down, the latter perched one of the small chair, hunched over, with even his knees clearing the table top. Pockey swung his legs back and forth and enjoyed the company while Dudley collected his thoughts. He sighed every few minutes (and whether it was because he couldn't hear him over his own humming or because he knew Dudley needed time to think, Pockey didn't say anything). Dudley's mind was stuck on his lasting dissatisfaction with things the way they were- the way they seemed to be going. He had long since admitted to himself he didn't know what to do.

"What would you do if you had done bad things?" he asked the house elf, deciding Pockey's advice was more than worth something based on their last conversation.

Pockey stopped swinging his legs, and tilted his head as he considered. "Well, when other house elves do bad they punish."

"Punish?" Dudley asked, his clumsy ministrations with his kitchen knife coming to a halt.

"Iron hands, hit head, poke eyes, bite ears," Pockey listed a few, "But Pockey does not punish. Master Snape said Pockey is forbidden to. Master Snape a good Master."

"The professor told you you aren't allowed to?"

Pockey nodded, and somehow Dudley felt a little relieved at the news.

"I don't see how that would help anything," he said thinking of Harry then.

"To remind self not to do it again," Pockey explained, splaying his grey-green, bony hands on the table top in an oddly human gesture for one so clearly _not _human.

"I'm not going to forget," Dudley insisted, quite sure of that.

Pockey shrugged, "Then maybe no punishment needed."

Two or so more hours passed this way, chopping vegetables, doing dishes, preparing food, and all the while Dudley and Pockey talked. Pockey explained a lot about magic, and Dudley asked questions mostly, and they debated they're differing views on the world, and it was all engaging for Dudley, though his original concern had somewhat been caught up in the wind of the conversation.

Eventually Pockey was ready to start cooking dinner. The vegetables they had cut up were added to the broth that had been simmering on the stove- a soup, and the rest were added to a salad; then Pockey pulled out a small, unprepared turkey (though still nearly as big as the half-sized house elf himself) while Dudley looked on.

"Well, crap!" Dudley said, glancing at the cuckoo clock on the wall, "There's no time now!" He was perfectly aware from Christmases and Thanksgivings past that there was not nearly enough time to prep _and _bake the turkey.

"Not to worry," Pockey said, struggling with the weight of the turkey as he dropped it into a basting tray on the floor, and he snapped his fingers for what must have been the hundredth time- only when he did it this time, the turkey prepared itself: guts vanished, their place taken by a load of vegetables hovering nearby, twine was tied around the legs all on its own, and it was basted spontaneously with some of the soup broth, the pot suspended in midair above the turkey. Pockey reached over and pulled open the oven door and then a loaf of homemade bread so that the turkey could float in, kicking the door shut behind it when it did. Pockey, oblivious to Dudley's concerns, put the bread on the table, picked up a knife and began to slice it.

"W-Why don't you just snap your fingers again?" Dudley asked, confounded, even as he continued scrubbing dishes at the sink, looking over his shoulder at Pockey.

"Pockey uses magic only when needed."

"What! _Why_?" Dudley gasped, "We did all that work for nothing!"

"Not for nothing Mister Dudley! Did Mister not enjoy working? Then why did Mister not have left? Or let Pockey do it?"

Dudley gaped at the house elf, but seriously considered this. He hadn't even thought about it. He clearly hadn't _disliked _the work. Was it really so far-fetched that he had enjoyed it?

"I guess." He shrugged, still feeling confused in light of this new revelation. It went against everything he was.

"Mister Dudley is serving."

"Yeah I guess that's true," Dudley said to the plate he was scrubbing in his hands. "I have somethings to make up to some people. Maybe this is like punishment."

"Mister Dudley does not need punishment. Mister Dudley said he would not forget. Mister Dudley needs honor."

Dudley grinned at Pockey. He felt good.

_xxx_

Petunia felt the same way shopping around first for Harry and then for Severus. She found Harry a few changes of clothes- new boxers, socks, a few plain t-shirts, and a pair of jeans. Then she'd shopped around for a gift for Harry. She hadn't known what to get him- not even a faint idea- so she'd headed to scope out her best bet: the local bookstore. Oddly enough it was here that she saw the CD racks, and it struck her what a perfect gift that would make. Not just music that she thought Harry would like, but the music that Lily liked. The old records, The Beatles- Lily's favorite. Their father had had quite the vinyl collection. Back in the day Severus had used to come over and their father would play records while Severus, Lily, and her sat, and listened, and talked (it had been one of her favorite things to do). Petunia had passed an electronics store not too long ago, so she doubled back and searched through the boxes and boxes of CD's finding a few of Lily's favorites. Then she talked to the young man at the counter about getting a CD player, and a headphone set. She got a few batteries as well, upon the good word of the of the salesman, a new game for Dudley because she had bought Harry the new clothes as well, and _then _she'd set out to find Severus a gift. She'd wandered town for some time before she settled on a bottle of fine brandy.

Then she made her way back towards the manor, enjoying the walk and the fresh air. It was a lovely place that Severus lived; the people were friendly, the scenery beautiful, the neighborhood quiet.

When she arrived, she tentatively let herself in the front door, her head coming around the corner first, before she stepped over the threshold. Up to her room she went first, depositing her bags in the closet, and grabbing Severus' brandy and Harry's bag full of clothes before heading across the hall. Her nephew was slouched over the desk, thumbing the next page of his text book with his head resting in his hand as if it took him a great deal of effort not to let himself fall into sleep right there on top of his text. There were some dishes off to the side with picked over snack foods on them.

"Harry?" she called. He turned towards her, blinking. "I just wanted to let you know I'm back," she explained.

"Did you get everything done?" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded. "Are you doing alright?"

"Fine, thanks," Harry replied, turning back to his homework.

"I just picked up some clothes for you," she said, holding up the bag before placing it down just inside the door. "Have a look and let me know if you need anything else."

Harry put down his pencil and turned to her more fully. "I will... Thank you," he said, though he was eyeing the bag suspiciously.

"I'll see you at dinner then." She pulled the door half way closed behind her, the way she had found it.

Then she crossed to Dudley's room, although he was not there, and so she made her way downstairs, taking a left to find her way around the back of her house and into the lab below, as he'd said he would be brewing. As luck would have it Petunia found him in the living room, showered and dressed; he wore loose grey exercise pants and a white coloured shirt with the sleeves rolled up and looked incredibly comfortable and relaxed, as- in addition to the undoubtably soft casuals he wore- Severus was lounging on the sofa, laying back with an arm tucked behind his head. When she stepped in, clearing her throat to announce her presence, he opened his eyes, blinked a few times in her direction, and then sat up. It was strange how thoroughly his clothing _did_ ruin his persona. Like this Severus looked approachable, like the Severus she used to know: not really kind but gentle, not really honest but sincere, and not mean but defensive.

"Petunia," he greeted. "How did it go?"

"Well, thank you, Severus." She walked over, the brandy hidden behind her back. He eyed her suspiciously. "I got you something..." She held out the bottle. Severus leaned forward and examined it before reaching out and taking it in one strong hand- Petunia holding it carefully with two.

"That was not necessary," he said, looking up at her.

"I wanted to thank you," she shrugged, smiling down at him. His face was less than two feet from her belly; he could reach out and put his hands at the curve of her waist if he wanted, pull her towards him.

"I appreciate it," he said, gesturing. "Would you care to join me for a drink?"

Petunia nodded and took Severus' place on the sofa while he went to pour them both a glass.

"Did you get the answers you were looking for 'Tunia?" he asked from behind her. The sofa faced another sofa with a glass table between them surrounded by even more shelves of books, the massive front window encased by them on all sides; behind her was a cherry wood hutch housing all his liquor and shining glasses tucked into the corner on an angle, a massive pale stone fireplace centered on the wall; it was, like the library, very _full_, however it had an airy feel to it: the shelving had been painted out white, and the sofas were of a lighter material, while the walls, she noticed for the first time, were wallpapered with light blue stripes where they were not covered. When Petunia finished scrutinizing the room she turned to look over at him; Severus was coming back, walking around the sofa. He handed her a glass, and sat opposite her, putting his bare feet up on the table, crossed at the ankles. She could hardly make out his features with the light flooding in from the window behind him.

"Yes, I did," she said, taking a sip and trying not to make too much of a face. She leaned back into the sofa, and pulled her feet up beside her, resting her free hand on her ankle, before taking another sip, and then recounting what she had learned.

"I started at the police station. I still have bruises and scrapes," she said, gesturing to her arm, "so they documented them, and then took my statement, and I filed battery charges against Vernon. They said they can't force him to vacate the premises before the divorce is finalized. I got directions from them to the nearest lawyer's office, and so now I have a contract with the lawyer. The divorce is filed as well as an emergency order of custody for the boys on the grounds of assault; the lawyer said if I filed the emergency order the hearing would be scheduled no more than ten days out, and we could skip the temporary order or divorce decree- that is assuming Vernon signs the papers the lawyer, Andrew's, taking to him to acknowledge the hearing in ten days. The divorce will be finalized at the hearing if Vernon agrees to the division of assets and custody of the boys, otherwise the divorce decree will be extended for up to a month. But I was not wrong about getting the house and custody of the boys- I'll get them- unless the boys wish to go with Vernon, that is. The charges I pressed are a completely different process in the muggle system," she explained to Severus, feeling the alcohol warm her from the inside, entirely at odds with how she was really feeling; she'd started the day on a high, feeling hopeful, as if she had a renewed vigor for life, and yet by the end of it- taking steps she never dreamt she would take and taking them on her own- she'd had a major reality check, nearly breaking down at the police station as she signed the papers passed to her with a shaky hand. "The charges could take up to three months to go through, but they'll will show up in the divorce hearing. Andrew said it was the best move for me to bring charges against him, so that's good. It'll help in the divorce. I asked Andrew a few questions about the finances, too, and he told me a little, but I visited the bank after anyway." Here she smiled a little, seeming unsure of herself to Severus.

"What is it?"

"Well, our accounts were joint, of course," she explained. "Meaning we both had access to them. Maybe Vernon's just bit slow or maybe he thinks we're coming back, but our chequing and savings accounts were untouched. I-" she looked down guiltily- "I may have withdrawn all our money."

Snape who had been half way to taking a sip, stopped. "Are you allowed to do that?"

"Well normally it'd be divided between the two of us as well," Petunia explained, "but Andrew said I can just claim I needed it for living expenses, lawyers fees, and all the rest if comes to it, otherwise, yes you are. I moved it into Dudley's account, so it won't be processed in the divorce. Of course Vernon can get it back, but it will take a lot of time and money. I'm guessing he'll get angry but not pursue it. There wasn't much there anyway."

Severus lips twisted a bit into a wry smile. "Well done, Petunia." Then he did take a sip.

Taking a deep breath- "Vernon's not going to be happy. I left him with only enough for the bills."

"Petunia," Severus chastised her, "he's beaten you and abused your children. It is far too late to play the coy victim."

"I know! I know! But he's my husband, Severus!" Petunia pleaded for him to understand.

"He's an abusive, hateful coward." Severus was unmoved.

"He wasn't always like that!" Petunia's voice rose, desperate for understanding.

"Yes, he was."

"No, he wasn't! He was a good person, and he couldn't take the stress!"

"Do you even here yourself?" Severus's voice dropped to a low growl. "You sound _exactly_ like a battered wife. Like my mother did, defending my father. You know what defending him will get you, Tunia? Only further humiliation. And then of course becoming disgusted enough with yourself for being too weak to say it was wrong and do something about it that you become a hate-filled monster yourself."

Petunia drew back, stunned and stung. She stared at Severus for a long moment, looking hurt, before she threw back the reminder of her drink, wincing at the burn, and clambered off the sofa, dropping her glass onto the coffee table with a _clank_ before fleeing for the stairs, not before turning back to him in the doorway.

"I know he what he did was wrong," she said in a shaky voice with underpinnings of a strong rage. "And I refuse to pretend that I didn't- don't- love him because there was a time- believe what you want Severus- that he loved me, too. And that's more understandable than spending your life alone!" Petunia pivoted on her heel and was gone.

Severus looked down at the glass resting on his belly and sighed. He couldn't really expect more from Petunia. She wasn't perfect. He wasn't either. In fact, maybe he had been a bit harsh. The situation was bringing up a number of memories for him, not at all pleasant memories. Although he didn't know what to think of her jab at him for being alone. Would she say the same thing if she knew his position in the war? Or was it really indicative of the sort of man he was, that he didn't have a family, let alone a wife?

As much as he loved his solitude, it was true that Severus every now an again longed for companionship, or what he remembered of it from his childhood with Lily and Petunia and the ideal that had been their life, with two loving parents who, more importantly, loved _each other_. Being accepted into that and the feeling that he wasn't entirely worthless- warmth and hope- was almost something worth risking the war over at times. It was not an easy position to be in, the role of a spy; it took a greater toll on a him than likely any other position ever could (except maybe being the boy-who-lived, he admitted to himself somewhere in the recesses of his mind); it reaped a person of their heart and left a cavity in its place, filled with only pain... The only way to survive was without caring, he thought humbly, and then to have to _contain_ that, the fraud of a man he had become in every part of his life. It was maddening that everything about him was a lie and there was not one person left who knew anything about him that mattered. And without knowing him, who could really console him on sleepless nights trying to reconcile all that he'd seen and done- worse than any nightmare- with who he _wanted _to be- who really wanted to be, and who he thought he could be.

Albus, he supposed, had tried to fill that role of consoler, but really it was impossible; Albus was one of the perpetrators in all this.

Another long-drawn sigh engulfed the room, and Severus lifted his glass to polish off the remainder of his drink... That was what friendship felt like. Like the buzzing warmth that was spreading in his stomach and working it's way up and out through every pore of him, making everything- the tips of his potion-stained fingers to the back of his ever-aching head seem more tolerable, more pleasant. He could swear for just a moment that everything would be fine- that _he_ would be fine even if absolutely nothing else was. He tilted back his head, and wondered to himself why he wasn't an alcoholic; the incessantly rational part of himself inserted oh so helpfully it was because he had things to do and he could not afford impaired judgement for anything, for any amount of time. Closing his eyes, he forced his muscles to relax the remainder of the way, to sink further into the cushions, enjoying the moment for as long as it lasted.

Which as it happened, was twenty minutes later give or take, by his estimation, until his house elf came in and out to announce dinner- his house elf, his dear friend who he'd forgotten to be grateful for- human or no- which caused him to feel a slight pang of guilt. He thanked Pockey earnestly for his service, and judging by the way he lingered, nodding and smiling, Severus was understood.

He then uncrossed his ankles, and planted his feet on the stimulatingly cool floor, sliding his glass onto the coffee table before standing up with an adjustment made to the hem of his shirt. He made a stop in the washroom first, so that by the time he arrived in the dining room, the rest of the household had gathered at the table seated in the same spots they had been for lunch the other day: Severus at the head of the table, Petunia across from him, Dudley to the right, and Harry to the left. As he walked in he caught the tail end of the conversation, Petunia saying, "No need to thank me, Harry." It seemed to grow quiet as the focus was shifted to him. Petunia looked down, fiddling with the corner of the napkin on the table, and didn't look up when he swept past her; Dudley however, smiled with a tentative, "Hullo." Severus nodded in return. Harry, he noted, was still wearing his pajamas.

"You've not changed all day?" he asked, looking back at him as he was seated.

Harry shrugged.

"Do you make a habit out it?" Severus wasn't sure if he was willing to allow this or not.

"Only sometimes, at Hogwarts, over Christmas. I've studied all day though. There was no point."

Severus had to force himself not to role his eyes. Of course the boy was trying to cram all his homework in after what he had said about occulmency lessons. Well, he would never finish, Severus thought sadistically, and if he did... "I will be checking it for quality."

"What! It's not even _for_ potions-"

"Nevertheless, I am a teacher and responsible for all students to some degree, no matter the house or subject," and in a sardonic tone he said, "You should be overjoyed at the prospect." Severus sat back, fighting off the smile that was trying to gain purchase on his face. "Your marks are dismal at best, Potter."

Petunia and Dudley were both looking at Harry now, who sputtered in outrage. "Have you been looking at my marks?"

"No, but if your performance in potions is anything to go by." Severus took a sip of water from one of the glasses Pockey had set the table with.

"Well, it's not! Potions is the only class I do bad in!"

"Your mother was quite good at potions, Harry," Petunia supplied.

Harry looked at her, a little taken a back, blinking, but he thought about it before replying, "I think I just take after my dad."

Severus could have contradicted that- maybe even wanted to- but he didn't.

Dinner appeared then: turkey, vegetable stew, bread, and salad.

Pockey, strangely, was standing between Severus and Dudley, a few feet back. Severus did a double-take when he noticed him.

"Thank you," Severus said. Usually Pockey didn't wait for acknowledgement.

"Mm," Pockey made a contented noise in the back of his throat, smiling without falter.

"Is there something you need?" Severus asked, confused now and frowning.

"Pockey is waiting for Master and guests to eat."

Severus's frown deepened, but he trusted Pockey enough to not question him. If he wanted to ensure they ate, then so be it. Severus turned around and filled his plate, as did the others. When they had all taken a bite- Severus of the turkey and then of the salad, he turned to Pockey, questioning.

"Is it to pleasing?" Pockey asked, leaning forward a bit with wide grey-green eyes.

"Yes, it is. Well done, Pockey." Severus nodded in acknowledgment.

"Mister Dudley helped!" Pockey finally burst. Immediately all eyes were turned to Dudley who's mouth was hanging open, but thankfully was void of food (he'd tried the stew first). Harry was grinning, and Petunia looked surprised, while Severus didn't know what to think.

"I only chopped vegetables," Dudley said, splaying his hands as if to appeal for his innocence.

"_You_? Doing house work, Dudders? I never thought I'd see the day." Harry grinned. "I was wondering why you came in the other side," he gestured to the hallway behind Dudley before picking up his buttered bread and tearing off a piece with his teeth, stabbing a piece of turkey and shoving that in his mouth, too.

"Thank you, Pockey for informing us," Severus said, "I'm glad you had some help today."

Pockey bowed low and popped out, still with a joyously spread face.

"I'm glad you've put your free time to good use, as well." Severus inclined his head in Dudley's direction, thinking maybe he wouldn't have to worry about occupying the boy after all.

Dudley's cheeks grew visibly darker and turned his head toward his plate, throwing his concentration into eating. His mother reached over and patted him on the back, but didn't say anything. When he was finished, which was not that much longer considering the speed with which he (and Harry for that matter) consumed their food, he turned to the professor. "Would it be alright if I read some of your books, sir?"

Professor Snape looked up at him, somewhat surprised. "Yes," he eventually decided. "So long as you treat them with respect and return them to the place you found them. The books in my office will be off limits, as my office is off limits." He nodded with raised brows.

Dudley nodded back, his affirmation. "Thanks... Well, then." He shoved back from the table, Harry doing the same across from him.

"Sir." Harry took his turn then. "Do you have the post by any chance?"

Severus sighed. Insufferable boy. He put down his cutlery and stood up, grabbing it up from the low shelf on the long, thin sofa table against the wall beside the dining table, tossing the paper across to Harry, who scooped it up eagerly.

"Thanks!" he said, then disappeared. Dudley watched him go with a frown.

"Should I take these downstairs?" Dudley asked, gesturing to their finished dishes, but just as he did so they disappeared. "Oh. It's like... magic," he joked. The adults only stared at him, so Dudley got up and left, heading for the library muttering under his breath, "Never mind, then."

Once Petunia and Severus were left alone, there was an awkward stretch of silence. Petunia was frowning intently at her plate, picking apart her slice of bread with nimble fingers. Severus took the opportunity to scrutinize her more closely, though he felt like he'd been looking at her in this way far too much already. Her hair had dried to it's usual curly state, and she'd pinned it back in that same fashion she seemed to prefer, twisted off her face. He personally liked it better down. There was a slight crease between her winged brows, and her lips were slightly turned down. When she lifted a bit of bread to her mouth he could see the tips of her white teeth. It made him, somehow, more self-conscious of his own.

"Severus." Her eyes flipped up to his suddenly, and he looked away quickly, caught staring. Petunia continued without a hitch, though, "I should apologize for before. I'm sorry. I know you've done nothing but help me, and there's nothing wrong with you being alone." Severus tried hard not to but ended up sneering, "And I can understand why you were so defensive. I can also see how you would make that assumption- that Vernon has always been like this. I mean, your parents..." _were that way from the beginning_, she didn't finish. "You know, Vernon's father did the same thing to him, but he was never like this until he started drinking. I think when Marge- his sister was in an accident- when Vernon saw her in the hospital it just all came back. Vernon's father pushed her down the stairs once and she was in the hospital just like now. I guess Vernon felt powerless again," she shrugged, a little too nonchalantly.

Severus drew a long breath, unsure exactly how to respond.

"It's fine, Petunia," he acquiesced. "I was going to apologize to you, in fact, for antagonizing you. It was unwarranted."

"Good. I'm glad we got that cleared up." Petunia smiled. Severus had finished, but Petunia had not, so he waited for her. When they were down and the plates cleared away, they stood up in unison.

"Plans for the evening?" he asked.

"No." Petunia shook her head.

"Would you care to join me in the lab? I've just been prepping a shipment of potions supplies from a colleague in India this morning." Severus could swear Petunia's eyes lit up at that.

"I suppose I would," she said, tucking in her chair, and walking around the table towards Severus. He turned and led her down the hallway into the potions lab. It was fairly dark downstairs, and very much cooler that upstairs. Both the floor and the walls and ceiling were made of flagstone. The two rooms were partitioned by a massive, thick shelving unit, a dark wood, nearly black. One of the cupboards was open, and inside was a few hanging articles of clothing. On the near side of the vast underground room, the one which they first passed through, the walls were lined by chalkboards on rolling wheels with various times scrawled across them in Severus's cursive script, one the other several iron human-shaped dummies, which were severely beaten up. There were two large arm chairs off to one side as well, situated as if to consider the chalkboards from afar; a large end table (large enough to be a single family round dining table) separated them, it's surface littered what could only be described as junk, a lamp emerging from it and casting a dull glow through it's brown-green shade. Some things had even fallen to the floor, and Petunia raised a brow, surprised by this.

They didn't linger however. Severus led her into the back room. On this half, the cupboards had all been shut, but there were a few drawers hanging open and in them Petunia could see a wealthy variety of ingredients: grasses of some sort filling one, and multiple jars of various insects in another, all sorted neatly. there was a massive island counter in the middle of the room with drawers under its wood top, and a shelf below that where various cauldrons and other dishes were stacked. The counter along the wall lined only the far side of the island, and the wall opposite the partition shelving unit. The other wall was bare and without furniture. Petunia climbed onto one of the stools, taking note first of the few hanging lamps over the far counter, where Severus was grabbing some knives out of one of the drawers, and the shelves above them, lined with other supplies: hot-plates and candles, and baskets of gloves, and more. Across the island was an assortment of plants, jars of bugs and animal parts further down it, and a more than a few open books.

"Quite the lab, Professor Snape," Petunia commented, bracing her chin in her hand with her elbow on the island top.

"Quite the lab?" he asked incredulously. "There are only six others like it the world over- those of my counterparts."

Petunia laughed. "I didn't mean to slight your lab, Severus. If I were going to slight something it would be the mess in the other room," she said it in her best proper voice.

"Oh, is that right? You call that a mess do you? Then your boy must be meticulous- I know for a fact that Harry is not." Severus was arranging a bunch of leaves on his chopping board then.

"He's not?" Petunia straightened a little, crossing both her arms in front of her. "He's spotless at home. Probably because he has to be..."

Severus shook his head once. "Filthy. One time he arrived in class with two slices of toast-" Petunia was already staring at him, open-mouthed (it was common sense not to take food into the lab)- "Oh, that's not the worst of it, 'Tunia. The toast was in his pocket." Petunia visibly cringed, and Severus smirked. "I made him throw it out and took points from Gryffindor, of course... I suppose he thought I wouldn't notice him ripping off pieces and sneaking them to his mouth."

Petunia smiled, but it was a sad smile because the whole thing reminded her too much of a similar instant, one which had taken place only a few days ago.

"Is he really awful at potions?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Not as awful as I may have let on." Severus glanced up at her, clearly amused. "I did accept him into year six potions, after all. He should do better without Mister Weasley to distract him- that is, assuming he puts forth any effort this year."

"Hm, maybe I should be more involved with his grades."

"It couldn't hurt."

When he came around the island to the sink on the far wall and began to wash his hands, Petunia raised a single fine brow. "Shouldn't you be wearing shoes?"

He glanced over with a wry look on his face. "Normally, yes. I forgot how much a of a bookworm you were. I'm not brewing, 'Tunia; there's no need for proper attire." When Petunia thought about it, he was not dressed appropriately for brewing at all. His shirt sleeves could slide down his forearms, or his loose pants could get stuck on something, and they had next to no protective quality. She supposed handling ingredients didn't necessarily require protective clothing... depending on what they were.

"What ingredients are you working with?" she asked, needling him just for the sake of the amusement in it. She scrutinized the piles across the counter top.

"Why don't you have a look? See if you can identify them," he returned, speaking over his shoulder and his voice raised to be heard over the running water.

Petunia withheld a smile. _Ever the professor, _she thought. She leaned forward slightly, trying to get a better look, but couldn't discern any detail, so she slid off her stool and moved around to the other side of the counter, bending down to get at eye level with them, touching nothing.

"These are all exotic plants," she noted, hearing the water go off behind her. "I haven't studied a lot of these in years, some of them never."

"Most foreign concepts and theories are covered in year seven."

"Oh! This one I know." Petunia lifted a single leaf, pinning it delicately between two fingers. She stood up, holding it at eye level, Severus coming up behind her, and she could feel the heat radiating off him as he watched her. "It looks like a bay leaf, but that's fairly mundane, and considering the way the colour transitions from light to dark across it's length," she used her pinky to point down the length of the leaf, from stem to darkened tip. "I would say this is an anima folium- a life leaf."

"Correct. And what are the uses of an Anima leaf?" Severus's voice reverberated through her; she tried not to shiver, or move for that matter.

"For rehabilitation, longevity, and youth elixirs." Petunia's eyes narrowed, and she turned on the spot to look Severus in the eyes; they were standing one foot apart at most, and she held the leaf up between them. Severus's eyes, however, remained focused on her, not looking away for even a second. His expression was inscrutable, but Petunia still squinted up at him suspiciously. "Anima aren't just leaves of life; they're also leaves of death... if you harvest them too late." Now she looked at the leaf, twirling it between her two fingers, "This leaf is... it would have fallen within a week." She looked back up at him.

"Correct," Severus was soft-spoken and somber, and the two of them separated as if sharing one mind, Severus turning to the counter behind him to retrieve another knife, and Petunia putting the leaf back before moving around the island and resuming her perch on the stool. She wanted to know about it- of course she did- but she didn't want to pry, and somehow there seemed to be an unspoken agreement, an accord between them: they would talk about it later, if at all.

"I seem to be even better at potions than I recall. Perhaps I should offer to tutor Harry," Petunia joked.

Severus looked at her from the corner of his eye, as he went back to chopping. "Perhaps you should. You two have a long road ahead of you. I suppose your entire family does."

"You have no idea." Petunia shook her head. "I don't know how I'm supposed to make it right... If I even can."

"You can," Severus assured her.

"I don't think I can, Severus. I can't forgive myself. How can I expect him to forgive me?"

"I believe he's better than that, 'Tunia."

"He is, but you don't know what I've done."

"I know."

"No." Petunia shook her had, and sat back, crossing her arms under her bust, "You don't know. How can you?"

"I suppose Harry wouldn't have told you."

"Told me what?"

"I've seen it in his memories. If you recall I was the one to instruct him in the art of occulmency."

"I-Is that what occulmency is? Looking in people's minds?" Petunia's cheeks blossomed deep red, and she looked down, horrified.

"Actually that would be the art of legilimency. Occulmency is the art of keeping people out."

There was nothing else to say. Petunia didn't want to talk about it now that she knew he _really_ knew. What must he think of her? Petunia sat there, feeling miserable. She didn't want to expressly say let's change the subject, but she didn't want Severus to think she wanted to talk about it either. She fished around for some other topic.

"You said there were only six other labs to compare with this one. Am I to understand there are only seven Potions Masters in total?"

Severus, when he looked at her, did so with piercing eyes, like one might expect of a light-eyed person, but not him- his pupils seemed to swallow his irises until they were really nothing more than black pits, good for falling into.

"Actually there are nine, but the other two are paltry. If it were up to me they wouldn't have the title at all. They do the menial work at the Guild."

"It is certainly not a title to scoff at, then," Petunia agreed. She reached over and picked up one of the bright yellow bulbs Severus had dumped onto the counter, taking turns to separate the corolla before carefully removing the stigma and style from each with an ultra thin knife. _Siamese Senna, _she realized.

"And the lab usually reflects its Master," he concluded.

"I see."

Petunia was eventually given a knife of her own, and assisted in preparing the materials, Severus murmuring instructions to her, though she mostly just copied his movements. They continued working until they were both yawning, and neither hesitated to call it quits- it was tedious work, after all.

_xxx_

Harry was nearly drooling on his essay, determined to get it done. He would have finished right on schedule if he hadn't been distracted by the post. He'd whisked it away with him, up to his room, where he'd situated himself against the headboard, and read the paper by the muted glow of the bedside lamp. The headline article was a short insubstantial piece about a meeting between Minister Scrimgeour and Professor Dumbledore however the photo more than caught Harry's eye. The professor looked a little worn, so Harry waited and watched as the picture looped again, the minister and headmaster emerging from a room in the ministry, only to be bombarded by hovering flashing cameras and about a dozen shouting reporters; neither one of them flinched at the onslaught- rather, they both smiled serenely. Harry, though he was no expert on body language, examined the headmaster's posture for signs of burnout, and it was only then- he could have sworn he saw a flash of black where Dumbledore's right hand would have been, but he'd missed it. Pulling out his wand from his waist band and tapping the picture to slow it down with simple direction from his magic, this time he held the paper inches from his face, squinting as the political pair emerged from the room yet again. _There!_ Harry tapped his wand against the picture, and it froze in place. Dumbledore's hand... _Is he wearing a glove?_ Harry wondered at first. Then he realized he wasn't. He could make out the distinct form of fingernails- also blackened. What had happened to the headmaster's hand? It must have been a curse, but what sort of terrible curse could do that to the professor? Harry felt distinctly shaken up at the idea. He released his magic and watched the loop again, as Dumbledore slipped his hand behind his robe artfully once more. It wasn't by any means obvious, but it was certainly there, and now that Harry had seen it, he couldn't help the anxiety building up in him. Was the professor okay? Was he going to _be _okay if not? Did his hand hurt? Had he been to St. Mungos? What had happened? Why hadn't he been informed! Harry got up and crossed to the desk, taking out a bit of spare parchment and picking up his quill.

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_Can we talk?_

_Harry_

He read over the letter several times before folding it up and using a stick me spell on the paper to keep it closed. Then he looked longingly at the window. He could really use Hedwig right about now. His letter was useless otherwise. His only option was to go drop it off with Snape.

Picking up another piece of paper, Harry printed,

_Can you please give this to Professor Dumbledore?_

_Harry_

He certainly wasn't going down into the Snape's basement. If he wasn't in his office, then Harry would just leave it on the dining table for him to find later.

He ended up leaving it on the table, and the professor did indeed find it, following Petunia upstairs. When he stopped, she turned back to him, but he waved her on, bidding her goodnight, before taking Harry's missive and flooing directly to the headmaster's office. Dumbledore was nowhere in sight, so Severus left the folded paper on Dumbledore's desk, and then was back home, only to soon collapse into bed.

_xxx_

Author's Note:

-The only thing I really need to comment on here is the whole divorce proceeding: I'm writing it based on my personal knowledge of divorce. I've been through two- one from the perspective of a mother and one from the perspective of a father- so I think I have somewhat of an idea, but I admit that I'm not sure how it works in the UK, and actually I could be mistaken about the process here, too, because I was younger then.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Everyone seemed to sleep a little later the following morning- later and better. The dining table was not so dreary at breakfast; there was even a fair amount of conversation. Severus had again inquired as to everyones' plans for the day. Petunia said she had to go back into town, and Dudley said he would go with her; Harry said he would finish his homework- there was only a Latin translation left- to which the professor cocked a brow. He told Harry that he could bring him his work to look over... In the mean time, Dumbledore had floo-called him earlier, before the boys had woken, and he had a meeting at the Ministry this morning but would be by before noon. Harry glanced at the small analog clock sitting on the hutch- _9:46,_ it read. Harry nodded and then pushed away from the table.

"I'll finish up before he arrives then," he excused himself. He would need time to get showered and dressed as well, after all.

It was only after he had finished his Latin translation and was stepping out of the shower that the nerves began to hit him. As insane as the idea was to him initially, the first thought that came to mind was to have Professor Snape there. He couldn't ask for something like that though; this was the man who was only ever there to make him miserable, to rub the loss of everyone he loved in his face... yet, as angry as Harry was- always would be, he thought- somehow he could no longer imagine himself wanting to hold a wand to Snape's head.

Even as Harry considered the sheer absurdity of it, he pulled his shirt on (new jeans and a white shirt Aunt Petunia had gotten him; she'd guessed his size right and purchased a belt just in case as well). Then Harry headed downstairs, in search of the professor. It was his thought that the man couldn't really say _no_, and really he'd already been humiliated enough- particularly in front of Snape- that he didn't have much else to lose; for his own sake, because he really did need to speak to Professor Dumbledore and really didn't want to be alone and at the old man's mercy, he was going to have to put his loathing of Professor Snape on the back burner. It wasn't too hard a concept at least considering he'd been doing much the same for the past few days.

He wandered into Snape's office first with a light knock on the door, and when he did not find him there he stepped through into the library, again with a light knock. Snape was shelving some books, but he turned to Harry before placing them on a nearby table. Somehow, now that Harry was standing in front of the man it struck him full force how repulsive it was to ask for _anything_, let alone something of Professor Snape; he never wanted to ask _anyone_ for anything _ever_ again after all that had been denied him- except for Sirius, that is (he wanted to ask Sirius to come back home, and if he would could Harry live with him, and was there anyway Sirius could forgive him?).

It was too late to turn and walk out, though, Harry realized and so he reassured himself it wouldn't mean anything; if he asked Snape for this, it really didn't have to mean anything at all.

Snape raised a brow.

"Professor," Harry began, and he could feel the nervousness in him, dissolving his insides and making him feel like one of the aka-seltzer tablets Aunt Petunia always slipped in her water before bed each night even though they were meant for nausea. "Will you be there when I meet with Professor Dumbledore?"

The professor gawked at him. "Why?" he asked, deadpanning.

"I don't want to get angry and end up destroying your office, too," Harry joked. It was fairly obvious to both of them how lame an excuse that sounded, but Severus had questioned Harry simply because he was at a loss as to how to respond; he didn't really expect an honest answer. The truth was he fully understood how Harry felt, and he also had great sympathy for the boy.

"I'm not sure," he said finally. "There maybe some things best discussed between you two in private."

Harry glanced down for a moment.

_It means something_, he realized, sickeningly. Asking Snape for this was not meaningless- not in any way. It meant acknowledging there were reasons that he didn't hate Snape- even though he _did_... No, he didn't know if hated him or not. But where Harry was aware of all of this already-_ was Snape? _Would he be now? Harry cursed himself internally as it struck him just how far he had put himself out there, practically offering an olive branch. Was it so unlikely that Snape would take that branch, snap it, and throw it to his feet? Not at all. But Harry knew some things about Snape he had not known before, and he thought he might at least make Snape _consider_ him.

When he looked up there was something knowing in his eye. It shook the professor just a little to see it there. It was a look that belonged entirely to Harry; he'd never once seen it on the face of either his father or mother, and it was a look he only ever occasionally saw in other Slytherin:, of resignation or acceptance and also of understanding.

"From what I hear you have a lot bigger a role in this whole thing than I originally thought."

Harry waited for a response.

"What role is that?" Severus had gone perfectly still as if concerned with ruffling Harry out of his state, whose tone was absolutely demanding attention. Severus had hopes of harnessing this side of the boy he was meeting for the first time. He might for once actually see a leader in the frail thing standing before him. What a shame it was that there was no one until himself to see it in him, to bring it out of him. Perhaps he would mention it to Albus, see what could be done in terms of the boys training.

"A role consisting of a couple of different acts... Of friendship with mom and Aunt Petunia and being a spy; and pretending to hate me, then saving me and protecting me for years; experiencing almost the same things of life and war as me, even knowing about the prophecy..."

_Good Lord,_ Severus thought. He was completely stunned. Harry had put together the entire puzzle with the exception of one missing piece which was the oath he'd sworn to Dumbledore and his repentance which took all the honor out of it. He had not the faintest idea what to say, after all, he had _never_ imagined him and Potter's brat having any sort of understanding, Lily's son or not- yet here he was, spewing insight like it was yesterday's news... In fact, he couldn't help but wonder, how long had Harry been thinking of him as anything other than the greasy git Death Easter of the dungeons?

"I guess Professor Dumbledore was right about you this whole time then?"

Severus cringed. He couldn't do this. The next words he spoke, he believed were out of context, but he would sooner have taken it too far than to let this continue. "...Perhaps Dumbledore was correct, and I am not the precisely the monster you have always believed me to be, but that does not mean Ihave ever wanted anything to do with you, Potter."

_Merlin, _Snape internally bawled. For a moment a look of supreme hurt flickered across Harry's face, only for an instant. Then he seemed to get a grip, and took it in stride. Snape got the distinct impression Harry was _okay _with it.

"I may acknowledge, sir, all the ways you aren't bad, but that doesn't mean I don't hate you still." Harry didn't have to think about hurting Snape anymore. Somehow his declaration had liberated Harry from any misgivings he might have about where the two stood. If Snape still hated him anyway, what was there to be unsure about? Nothing had _really_ changed, only Harry could not deny a small sense of loss somewhere deep inside.

"I see," Snape said. "So we have a mutual respect and dislike for each other?"

"Yeah. Weak words, but yeah."

"Mutual... understanding and detestation?"

Harry actually deigned to grin. He nodded with good humor and Severus was overcome with the urge to help this boy, all else aside. He had been doing as much for so long, it was only natural, and yet his _reason_ for doing so felt somehow different.

"I will serve as an intermediary for as long as is required."

Harry's smile did not grow or diminish at all, but it changed to reflect his gratitude.

Severus then told Harry to go get his homework so he could peruse it, moving to his office in the meantime. He was advising Harry on the content of a transfiguration essay when there was a knock at the door, and the headmaster came stepping in, in full wizard-garb which included a long hanging purple hat that Harry thought went rather well with the headmaster's full, red robes. His hem was a bit dusty from his walk down the gravel drive, but Severus had purposefully excluded his home from being connected to the floo network.

"Ah, if it isn't my two favorite juniors." Albus smiled jovially.

Harry thought it was rather juvenile of him, but he grinned. Severus snorted.

"Harry, how are you?" Professor Dumbledore asked, taking a seat behind Snape's desk. Snape likely should have sat there, but he had taken a seat beside Harry for ease of pointing to the various parts of the parchment in his hand, now completely forgotten.

"Fine, sir."

Albus nodded and perhaps it was the grave look on his face, but the room seemed to suddenly grow somber. Snape shifted forward and placed Harry's essay on top of his other books on the desk, and then sat back in his chair, noting the way that the boy was eyeing him, as if to ask what he was to do next.

Severus glared halfheartedly. How was he supposed to know? "...Albus, Petunia has made progress."

"Oh? And?"

"If all goes smoothly the affair should be concluded within ten days."

"That's excellent. We need to get Petunia and Harry onto their own property as soon as possible."

"For protection?" Harry asked bitterly. He hadn't had the slightest idea how long the divorce was going to take.

"That's correct, Harry," Dumbledore said, his eyes particularly grave. "Save my house and Hogwarts during the school year, this is likely the safest place you could be."

Harry couldn't help it: he shot Snape a wary look. It was obvious what he was thinking; the Professor sneered at him.

"Harry, I understand your- cautiousness, but Professor Snape is nothing like your uncle."

"I- I know," Harry stuttered, his cheeks blotching red. "I didn't mean it like that-"

"We all know what you meant, Potter," Snape snapped; then he waved his hand through the air. "I really could care less, anyway."

Harry didn't take offense at that, he just gave the professor a queer look.

"I know you likely don't wish to discuss it, but I must ask, Harry..." Dumbledore cut in, more subdued than ever. Harry visibly stiffened in his chair.

"Actually, you don't really have to. I'm sure the professor filled you in on all the details."

"What details?" Snape asked sarcastically.

"Harry how long has this been going on?" the headmaster asked before Harry could respond. He felt himself physically recoiling. He didn't think any of this really needed to be discussed. In fact, he would have refused to if he didn't think they would simply force him and damage his integrity in doing so.

"What, sir?" He supposed he could just play stupid (and elusive if that failed), though Harry was no Slytherin.

The headmaster, ever patient, only replied with: "How long has your uncle been abusive?"

"I suppose that depends on how you define abusive, sir." Harry sunk further in on himself.

Snape, if he weren't frustrated with the boy, likely would have smiled- or smirked- at his childlike Slytherin tactics.

Harry found absolutely nothing humorous in the situation, of course. In fact, he felt pinned to his chair by Professor Dumbledore's piercing eyes which he refused to meet with only basic occulmency skills to employ.

"How long has your eating been restricted?"

"A few years, sir," Harry said, thinking back to the year Vernon had decided he wasn't allowed to eat at the table with the family anymore. It had been pretty soon after that that he'd started missing meals as punishment.

"How long have you been locked up?"

"Er-" Harry didn't really want to talk about the cupboard. He didn't think anyone knew about the it other than Snape from the day he had come to Privet Drive and therefore likely Dumbledore too. Harry had been worried when his Hogwarts letter came, but no one had ever said anything. It wasn't that he really cared to hide the fact that he had been put in a cupboard so much as the fact that- well, he _liked_ his cupboard, and he didn't want anyone pitying him for something he liked, even if he knew it was insane that he longed for it on occasion. Somehow the cupboard under the stairs was more home to him than any other place in the world. Harry, when he was little, fancied he was born right out of the space underneath the stairs, something as pale and ghostly white as him crawling out from the blackness. "For a while."

"How long in the cupboard?" the headmaster asked.

Harry stiffened some more as the truth to his suspicion was revealed: Snape had told. He glared at the man sitting beside him.

"Potter?" Snape only prompted. Harry turned away.

_Should I lie?_ Harry asked himself then. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

"It isn't worth lying, Potter," Snape inserted.

Harry had thought that telling the truth would be best, but when he opened his mouth what came out was, "Since summer." What difference would it make if they knew he'd grown up there anyway?

There was a painful silence following that.

"Why do you feel you need to hide the truth Harry?" Dumbledore asked. There was no accusation in his voice.

"I-" Harry blinked. He didn't really now how to answer that. At the end of the day it was because he didn't really trust Snape or Dumbledore. He could never see- Dumbledore at least- using his shameful past against him, but even so Harry didn't trust Dumbledore to know what was right for him, to give him full discretion and things of that nature. In the end he only shrugged.

Dumbledore sighed, clearly disappointed. Harry glared. This was exactly what he was expecting: the headmaster just laying on the guilt. He didn't need this shit, he had been through enough.

After a pause, "How long has he been hitting you?"

"Only this summer, sir." Again, he'd gotten the occasional cuff to the back of the head when he was younger, but he didn't think that was really such a big deal.

"And verbal abuse, Harry?" Dumbledore looked tense in Severus's desk chair now. Severus was leaned back in his own seat, his legs crossed, and his face dark, nearly obscured by a hand resting thoughtfully against his mouth. He hadn't moved for a while, as if he were straining to hear or trying to figure out something particularly difficult.

"I suppose since we were old enough to hear swear words," Harry answered awkwardly, thinking of Dudley and him in grade school before they'd ever heard words like _bastard_ and _fuck_- or knew what they meant, anyway.

Dumbledore sighed heavily again.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

Harry frowned a little at the use of _us_, but didn't say anything about it. "I thought you knew."

"My dear boy, how could we have known?"

Again with the _we._ Harry chanced a look at Snape to find he was still unmoving.

"Every summer I came back I was thinner than the last. I never had proper clothes. I have the shittiest glasses in history. I never wanted to go back."

"Yes, Harry, you are right. There is no excuse. I simply never thought that it would ever go as far as all this."

Harry shrugged. In all honestly it didn't matter to him anymore. The damage had been done, and his expectations had resulted in disappointment so profound it had changed who he was. He was never going to trust anyone to look after him again, so why was any of this necessary? Did they want him to make them feel better about it? It was ludicrous. Couldn't he just have his bloody privacy?

"Are you going to tell everyone?"

The headmaster blinked. "Of course not."

"It will be up to you when and whom you tell, Potter," Snape cut in. "You may use my owl if you wish to contact your friends."

"No." Harry shook his head, and he could feel some of the tension leaving him. "That's alright. I just want to make sure you don't tell anyone." The exchange of words was not lost on the professors: _everyone _to _anyone._

"Harry, the Weaselys, Lupin-"

"Fucking hell!" Harry cried, outraged and appalled that it would even cross the Headmaster's mind.

"_You have no right. _It's my life not _yours_. In fact, it has absolutely _nothing_ to do with either of you at all, and I don't have to discuss _anything_ with you." He was starting to get angry, all the feelings he'd had recently of having no control funneling back to him (of Sirius being _murdered_ by Lestrange). The headmaster held up his hands in appeasement and Snape finally shifted beside him.

Harry couldn't precisely feel his magic reaching out, after all it was no different from breathing in and out the air of the room, but when an empty glass fell off the bar and smashed to pieces on the ground he mentally jerked away, his magic abruptly snapping back into him.

"I understand, Harry. I will give you my full discretion," Dumbledore acquiesced.

Harry nodded once, relaxing his grip on the chair arms. There was a stretch of silence, and when Harry had forgotten the threat of moments passed, he blurted, "Sir, what happened to your hand?"

Dumbledore glanced at his hand in his lap, and lifted it slightly before dropping it back into his lap again, thinking better of it. "That is a long story, my boy, best saved for another time, I think."

Harry didn't miss the glance Dumbledore shot at Snape, and Harry turned to the dire man beside him.

"Well, Professor Snape, is unnaturally good at summing up long stories, isn't he?" Harry looked expectantly at the professor whose lips parted and then sealed. He looked to Dumbledore for help.

"He can be rather succinct, yes," the headmaster nodded. "However I do not think you are... ready to hear this."

"What about what I think?" Harry asked, sounding hurt. "After all that I told _you_?"

"I fear that knowing will only hurt you further," Professor Dumbledore said sadly.

"I think it's been shown that I'm not weak, Headmaster. I think I can handle whatever it is you have to tell me."

The headmaster didn't answer; he simply stared calculatingly, at the desk top.

"Sir?" Harry turned to Professor Snape next. His imploring eyes were maybe a little obscured by his glasses wretched as they were, and the truth of Harry's words- them being the shittiest glasses in history- were accepted by Severus; he made a note to see that the boy had proper eyewear for the coming year. He marveled that no one had seemed to be formulating a list.

"Don't _you_ think I have a right to know?"

Severus suppressed a sigh, and glanced at the weary headmaster.

"You'll have to tell him sooner or later, Albus."

The headmaster hummed his acknowledgment. "What would you like to know?"

"How did it happen? Are you alright?"

"It was during a fight with Voldemort, in a manner of speaking." Now he did raise his hand, looking at it sorrowfully.

"A fight with Voldemort!"

"A part of Voldemort, Harry: a horcrux. A piece of his soul sealed in this- Salazar Slytherin's ring..."

Harry shook his head in confusion, but then seemed to come to a realization, "Like the diary?"

Dumbledore looked at him in surprise. "Yes, Harry."

"What? But when? How? How many Voldemorts are there?" Harry could hardly stay seated, perching on the edge of his chair.

"I am not sure how many horcruxes there are." Dumbledore ran his good hand over his face. "It is not easy to create one, Harry. It requires a sacrifice."

"A sacrifice?"

"Of human life," Snape interjected with a sneer as if it were obvious.

"Why didn't you tell me this before!" Harry whipped back round to face Dumbledore.

"I was going to tell you this year. I just wanted to make sure I had answers to all of your questions first. I would have _had _to tell you this year: I'm afraid I can go no further without your help."

"What do you mean?"

"I will need you to appeal to someone who has information likely essential to us. Will you help me, Harry, when the time comes?"

"Yeah, of course."

Dumbledore nodded his approval.

"Does it hurt, sir?"

"My hand? No. Professor Snape has taken good care of me." He smiled benignly at the professor who was looking on with an unusually blank expression (_usual_ would have been a dark scowl, Harry supposed when the thought crossed his mind).

"That's good," he said quietly, and the three seemed to ruminate in the ensuing pause, Harry fishing about for more questions to ask; before he could voice any of them Dumbledore interrupted.

"I promise we will talk more soon, Harry, but for now will you excuse us? I must have a word with Professor Snape in private."

Harry's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but he got up and walked to the office door, swiping his home off the desk as he passed.

"It was good to see you, Professor," Harry said earnestly, quietly. Really, things hadn't gone so bad besides the fact that his mind was left in turmoil. He didn't know how to make sense of all that he had learned. He relished the thought of some time on his own to think it over- even then he might not figure it out. _Everything has changed again,_ he withheld a grimace as he pulled open the door; this time it was not just for the worse, but for the much worse. He was left with an overwhelming sense of doom, but at least he had always had an inkling of what Voldemort was; he seemed no less vanquishable now than he had before the meeting, though that wasn't saying a lot because Harry had never known how the hell he was going to overthrow the Dark Lord and had always secretly thought it a suicide mission.

"You as well," Dumbledore smiled brightly at the retreating young fellow. As soon as the door was shut again he turned back, his expression sobering quickly. Snape cut in right away.

"Albus, the more thought I give this arrangement," he waved one hand in a tight circle, his thick silver ring glinting in the light, "the more I come to realize the danger we are all in."

"I know. I know, Severus. I have given it much consideration in the past few days. I have devised a solution, though you may not like it." The headmaster levered himself out of the other man's desk chair, and went to stand at the window. "You must not let Vernon and Petunia divorce."

Severus nodded. "I thought as much."

"So you reached the same conclusion as me?" Dumbledore chuckled, but there was no joy in it.

"Yes." Severus heaved a sigh. "If they divorce he will no longer have the protection of the wards, and when the Dark Lord discovers Potter's absence, he could easily attack Dursley in his home. I need to obliviate him, so that when the Dark Lord sends for him- and I've no doubt he will- then he won't discover my true allegiance."

"You are right," Dumbledore said quietly, "Vernon and Petunia will not be divorced, but she cannot take those children back there, which is why I will redouble my efforts to secure them a property."

Severus nodded curtly.

"I am doing all that I can." The headmaster placed a hand on Severus's shoulder. "In fact, if I were ever at home I would simply take them with me. If school were in session, and the Hogwarts wards were at full strength I would even bring them there, but I mean for no more harm to come to you, my boy."

"I know, Albus," Severus's voice softened ever so slightly.

"Yes, I know that you do."

"I'll see Dursley tomorrow then, about _not _signing the divorce papers." Severus stood, and raked a hand through his hair.

"I will leave it up to you, Severus." The headmaster clapped his hands together, back to his usual self. "I hope you do not mind if I visit again soon?" Severus rolled his eyes half-heartedly, and after extending an invitation to lunch which was politely declined, the headmaster was gone, Severus showing him to the door. He lingered in the foyer for only a moment longer before making his way to the dining room where Harry was, the two picking at fish strips and salad over some choppy conversation about year six curriculum, before Harry returned to his school work (and thinking), and Severus to his library work.

_xxx_

Dudley, in the morning, after he getting dressed, went to find his mother (Petunia was reviewing her list at the desk, again). She had stopped Dudley briefly to hand him the gift she had bought him the other day. Dudley took it from her and examined the title on the box: _Merelda_. He didn't have the heart to tell her he didn't like elf games. Instead he grinned, saying, "Thanks, mum. That's great! I'll go put this with my stuff, and then we can go." When he had done just that they were off. On the walk into town they talked about Harry's birthday in and among a series of trivial topics- as long as they avoided any discussion of Vernon and what had happened. In town Dudley gave a statement to the police, and reviewed Petunia's affidavit. Then he helped Petunia pick out a birthday cake and some balloons for Harry, and carried the lot back to Snape Manor for his mum, stopping for lunch along the way.

"Maybe you can give that to Pockey and he can store it until tomorrow," Petunia said, gesturing to the cake in her son's arms.

He nodded.

"I'll go ahead of you and make sure Harry isn't about," Petunia suggested.

Dudley stood at the bottom of the steps while his mother rounded the first floor and then came back to the door, gesturing him inside. He made a beeline for the basement, while his mother took the foyer stairs, presumably to put the rest of her things away.

Pockey of course was as cordial as ever, taking the cake from Dudley even though it was larger than his oversized head, and made room for it in the fridge.

"What are you doing now?" Dudley asked, seating himself on one of the impossibly tiny chairs.

"Pockey is cleaning up lunch."

"Can I help?" Dudley asked automatically.

Pockey shook his head, moving over to the sink. "No, Pockey is almost being finished now."

"Oh," Dudley said, propping an elbow on the table and propping his chin in his hand, "Well, what are you doing after?"

"Pockey will find something."

"Don't you ever have any free time?" Dudley asked.

"Yes, Pockey is supposing he is."

"Well, what do you do on your free time?"

Pockey pulled his arms out of the sink, snapping his fingers so the washing would continue without him, before taking a few steps over and pulling open one of the old wooden drawers with something of a struggle. He reached in and pulled out a small bundle, holding it preciously in two hands, walking over to Dudley.

"Pockey is playing with these," he said, loving wonder in his eyes. "Master gave them to Pockey on Pockey's birthday."

"Cards?! That can't be much fun at all!" Dudley said, dropping his hand from his chin in shock.

"Oh, it is very fun, Mister Dudley! Pockey would do nothing else but serve!"

Dudley shook his head in disbelief. "Okay, you wait here. I've got something to show you." Dudley was upstairs and back in record time; in his hand was game. He'd already put _Merelda_ in. He handed it to Pockey.

"It's a video game," he explained. "Actually my mum just got me this one yesterday, I think. It's not my favorite, I was gonna bring _Iron Gears,_ but this one has elves in it, and you're an elf, so..." Dudley shrugged.

"Muggles not be knowing about elves!" Pockey said, his eyes widening to an impossible size.

"Sort of. They're just legend to us, and not elves like you, either. See." Dudley pointed at the elf on the screen- _Merelda _apparently. "More like that." Dudley pulled the other chair around the table and the two of them went through the story, Dudley explaining the buttons as they went, though the video game covered some of that as well. Finally the game started; at first Pockey thought it was vulgar, shooting arrows at the palace guards from a high tower window before the sword-wielding fun began; soon Pockey was fully absorbed, and he and Dudley were oblivious to all else, including the dishes that continued to wash themselves in the background- that is until the cuckoo clock on the wall cried out and Pockey jumped up, in a rush to prepare dinner. Dudley, helped with that, too, feeling a little guilty he had distracted the elf. Pockey promised they could play later, though he did not promise only for Dudley's sake, but for his own too.

_xxx_

Petunia after she had dropped her purse and her things in her room went back downstairs. Obviously she had never intended her focus to allude her the moment she was in his presence, but that was what happened. Thoughts of Vernon and other legalities and- more importantly- Harry's birthday, slipped her mind with annoying ease considering how firmly they had been planted there just moments before. She'd been so overwrought with it all: dread, anxiety, fear, anger, humiliation, _guilt_; these things had been steadily growing in her which she had fought so hard to keep at bay for the sake of Dudley who she'd spent the day with (nearly losing it _again_ at the police station when he'd given his statement). As if to mock the strength she had garnered in the face of adversity (her own emotions more specifically) being near Severus seemed to fill her with an inherent sense of peace and calm. She could, no doubt, sense his innate strength, but why that would set her ailing mind at ease and make her feel as if everything would be okay, she really couldn't say; his strength was not hers. It was not _for_ her. If she hadn't been so- dare she think it- awed by his presence, she might have been a little resentful toward him for it (which maybe she always had been). Her only solace, in finding herself near him again, was that she had somehow overcome that _crutch_- of knowing that the one person in the world she would, beyond a shadow of a doubt, have given her whole self to would not have her. She had survived him once, she would do it again if it came to it. She had lived on, and Petunia was proud of herself for it, even if she had made some mistakes. She didn't feel like so much of a child next to him anymore. Actually, she thought, it was funny that she ever had, considering she was a year older, but then he had always been an old soul.

Severus was sitting by the window in what Petunia thought looked like a fairly ordinary blue silk shirt with a scoop neck and a snug fit around his hips- hips which in turn were clad in a pair of well fit dark grey trousers. The shirt was inexplicably feminine, and paired with Severus's lank dark hair, it wouldn't have been at all odd to mistake him for a much more delicate man, especially with his slender white fingers fondling the page corners of his book absent-mindedly as he read. It was strange, to see him that way, but she thought he looked elegant and attractive instead of like a buffoon which was more often the case (_she_ might have thought it adorable, but he likely came off as zany if not deluded to others).

Petunia crossed the room and took a seat across from him, waiting patiently as Severus's dark eyes slowly worked their way to hers.

"Petunia," he greeted. When his mind had refocused, he closed the book in his lap, his thumb holding the page he had just finished. Though Petunia was perched somewhat nervously on the edge of her chair, he commented, "You look well," eyeing her up and down; she was dressed in a flattering white summer dress, her burgundy hair was pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck, and- though Petunia normally never bothered with any sort of makeup except for on special occasions- she had even self-consciously put a bit of foundation on her face, rendering her skin almost _too_ supple and flawless; the self-consciousness was borne of an overwhelming desire to cover up any bruises or injuries she'd suffered at the hands of her husband more than it had anything to do with Severus, but now Petunia found herself grateful that she had taken the time to pamper herself this morning if only to diminish the effect of his eyes on her, though it couldn't completely eliminate them.

Severus was a scrutinizing man, and Petunia was a self-assured, strong woman- she always had been- so if she felt any sort of discomfort around him, it was mostly overshadowed by annoyance, mainly with herself. _Who did she think she was?_ she berated herself mentally. It was one thing to be weak and another to show that weakness; internalizing her problems was what she did best, and by rule. She did it then with her nervousness, letting her annoyance take front and center. She wondered if Severus was purposefully intimidating her... Of course, she knew he did so with his students, even towards her son and nephew, maybe some of his peers as well, but was he trying to intimidate _her_? Or was it lingering romantic feelings, if she indeed had any left? She could recall feeling this way when she had been young, too, though to a much greater degree; even then, though, Petunia had been a markedly reserved girl, and she'd never made a fool of herself that she could recall, and if her childhood self could maintain composure and dignity under worse duress, then Petunia certainly wasn't going to behave like a silly school girl now.

"I trust you slept well?"

"I did, thank you," she replied, pushing herself to sit more _comfortably_ in the chair, though she didn't want to. She hoped it didn't look too unnatural, but judging by the queer look Severus gave her, she doubted it had come off all that smoothly. This only incensed Petunia further: there was no one stiffer and more professional than Severus Snape, and if he could sit relaxed in a lounge chair, so could Petunia, no matter that she had not relaxed in a long time, no matter that propriety and 'normalcy' and polite manners had pretty well become her effective shield over the years. She reached over to the table and picked up the first book off of a stack, asking, "Do you mind?" as she did.

Severus gave her a look as if to say _be my guest_ and Petunia dragged the heavy tome into her lap, acutely aware of the innocuous dark eyes watching her as she did so. _Advanced Synthesis: Geochemistry and Mineralogy. _Petunia felt the corners of her mouth pull down involuntarily, but obstinate as she was, she hauled the cover back, flipped the first few pages, and languidly perused the table of contents, looking for something familiar. There were a few potions ingredients mentioned there that she recognized, and more than a couple she _hadn't_ which actually served to pique her curiosity, but when it came down to it, she couldn't bring herself to flip to the pages that might interest her, worrying that it would make her look stupid if she- a muggle- were trying to read a potions master's advanced text. Severus seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"I doubt there is much in that narrative within the scope of your comprehension," he said, though it was not said unkindly at all. "There are, unfortunately, very few books that would appeal to you in my library, I'm afraid."

Petunia almost took offense at that, except she was too eager that her knowledge of potions and other magic was suddenly relevant again.

"I don't see how you could guess my tastes, Severus," she pointed out, and it was equally good-natured. She paused, debating if she should say more and how exactly to proceed. "Actually, it's what I _don't_ already know which interests me," she settled on, trying and failing not to mutter, "_Naturally_," under her breath; it was the simple truth. Even though Petunia could never participate in magic herself (and that, she didn't deny, was certainly a bitter notion for her), she had a true appreciation of and fascination with magical theory- at least where it concerned potions, that is.

"Naturally," agreed Severus, not at all offended for even he could not deny he had delivered a sentiment worthy of a first year Gryffindor (it would have provoked an altogether more scathing response had such a thing been said to him, after all), "I should think, though, you'd at least like to start with an easier text, so you might have a chance of understanding the material."

Petunia frowned. Judging by the table of contents and the first few pages of the introduction, this book _wasn't _beyond her scope of comprehension. She knew enough to support anything she might read in it. "Is this book readable, by say, a sixth year student?" she ventured.

Severus's eyes grew marginally wider. "It is." His unspoken question hung in the air.

Petunia pursed her lips and eyed him before giving it up; "Very well- I read Harry's textbooks over summer- but you can't tell him!" For some reason it felt like a terrible transgression that she had read his books. She'd tell Harry eventually, but she didn't need Severus jumping the gun for her. Petunia watched as amusement lit Severus's eyes, he smirked, and her chagrin seemed to evaporate, a smile of her own pulling at her lips.

"Why should that surprise me?" he asked, sounding genuinely miffed. "It _shouldn't_: you always were extraordinarily curious."

Petunia shifted slightly, her cheeks heating up marginally as her eyes sunk self-consciously downward.

"As I recall there was even an occasion when _you _lead _me _in brewing."

Petunias cheeks were fully flushed now- perhaps even with pleasure- and when she looked up it was with a tentative smile. "You taught Lily and I all the basics, all the things she would have missed as a muggle-born witch." She nodded to herself. "She told me Slughorn skipped all the material wizarding children pick up on their own, like the fact that it takes magic to brew in the first place, and that's why muggles can mix the very same things and get nothing of it- why _I _can't brew."

"But you _were_ able to produce something," Severus pointed out. "Magic in a person is not a finite thing. You're more magical than some squib. It's a shame you didn't have enough to gain a position at Hogwarts. You, no doubt, would have been a witch as brilliant as Lily."

Again, his praise seemed to overshadow the bitterness, but Petunia could not keep her smiling from fading somewhat. "There are more important things in life than what happened in our childhoods," she said, perhaps a bit defensively.

Suddenly Severus's countenance shifted, and Petunia scrutinized his face curiously, trying to pinpoint the change.

"Indeed," he replied, "There are a great many things far more important."

_Oh dear,_ Petunia thought. Was he alluding to his own childhood? Had she offended him? In fact, what she had said had been terrible no matter _how _she looked at it, at least given Severus's apparent interpretation.

"That isn't what I meant, Severus," she said firmly. "I would never discredit anything from our childhoods, and you know that. I simply meant that there are far too many things I would do better focusing my attention on now than the regrets of my past."

"Why did you marry him?"

The question was unbidden and so unexpected by both parties that they sat wide-eyed and staring at each other.

"I- I-"

"Forgive me, 'Tunia, there's no need to answer. I wasn't thinking."

"No, it's fine... I didn't want my life to pass me by with nothing to show for it. I wanted to live, even if the life I chose was not the life I _wanted_ per se. I was thinking something, Severus... I guess I disappointed myself a little. Do- or did- you think less of me? When you found out I married Vernon, or when you found out what he is?"

"No, I didn't and don't, Petunia."

"I don't know if I can believe that or not, or if it even makes a difference," Petunia sighed. She stood up and crossed to the window, surveying the gardens, Severus surveying her. Her thin, bared arms were wrapped around her midsection as if she were cold.

"You know, Petunia, I've made horrible mistakes, too." She turned on the spot, frowning, and he knew he had her attention, "I've done things you couldn't dream of."

"And?"

"And the only way to live with regrets, is to try to make amends so that maybe someday you _can _be forgiven."

"You had to kill people, didn't you? When you were working for the Dark Lord?"

"_When I was working for the Dark Lord, Petunia?_" Severus sneered. "I still am."

Petunia's arms dropped.

"What?" she breathed.

"I will always be a Death Eater," Severus had half a mind to pull up his sleeve and show her the brand on his forearm, show her his dark mark, preferably with a cruel expression and armed with scathing words. He didn't. Obviously Petunia's idea of him was long since ruined, but not entirely just yet; the part of Severus that wanted people to loathe him if only they'd stay away, to not pity him, and give him none of their regard was displeased. Half of a good opinion was worse than no good opinion; at least if they had no good opinion they'd be _under_estimating him, but he often feared even _half_ of a good opinion was enough to warrant _over_estimation, and disappointment in turn.

Severus Snape certainly did not know himself to be a man of great measure. He wasn't enough to be truly dark (his esteem in dark circles would always be false), and yet he'd done enough wrong that he could never claim to be innocent, or light. If only, he thought, the rest of the world saw him with the same ignorance and impressionability as Petunia... _What would they see? Who would I show them?_ Greasy git fit his real self well enough, he supposed, but he couldn't help but have inkling of suspicion that he would be kinder, more forgiving, or even just less hostile (it could be right tiring sometimes to maintain a bitter disposition, especially if he wasn't really feeling that). So while a part of him longed to destroy any good opinion (any expectation) Petunia had left of him, another part ached to be someone even just a bit nicer- just to see what it was like. If he _could_ live up to a full good opinion like Albus (being quite the same as him where it concerned the measure of his virtue and honor, but managing to keep it all secret) he _would_. It was likely that Severus was the only one who knew the real Albus bar Aberforth. Yet people didn't look at Albus like he was the bane of their existence, and he never had to scowl back and prove that notion to be true.

Severus sighed internally. Petunia, he could see by the crisis in her eyes, was on the verge of changing her opinion of him. He really didn't want this, but his role in this war was set. This was bigger than him and Petunia. And he wasn't about to do a half-assed job of it, not when he'd already hurt so many people... More importantly, Petunia wasn't any different than the rest of them.

"That's right, '_Tunia_," he sneered, "And killing people is not the worst I've done. I've tortured people for amusement."

Severus blinked, the only outward show of shock, when the turmoil in Petunia's eyes seemed to evaporate.

"Why are you trying to lessen my opinion of you?"

"What?" Severus deadpanned, not bothering to make like this was a normal reaction and to keep up with his act.

"Say what you want, Severus. I know you." Severus felt like he had been stabbed in the gut. Petunia lifted her chin. "You aren't a bad person, and nothing you say is going to change my opinion of you." Petunia gave him a fierce look that was rather like a glare, and she crossed her arms, having made her stand. Severus, despite himself- despite knowing that if he couldn't fool this woman there was a crack in his facade- felt his lips pulling into a smile.

"Stubborn chit," he admonished, and Petunia couldn't help the Lily-like grin that split her face, a sanguine rush at her apparent victory.

But Severus was not done yet.

"Petunia, I wasn't lying," he said in a much more sincere tone. "I _have_ done horrible things."

"That doesn't make _you _horrible."

Severus frowned. How had this become about him anyway?

"Then the same to you."

"Yes, I know!" Petunia sighed dramatically, her arms flinging down to her sides once more only in exasperation this time. After a moment she stepped over and took her chair again, sitting up so she was looking directly at Severus.

"You're still the Dark Lord's man," she stated with only a hint of uncertainty, "but you show- or at least you understand- regret and redemption. You're also doing this," she gestured to herself and the rest of the room, "and Dumbledore trusts you." She nodded as if to confirm he was following (funny, he thought, considering it was his life she was talking about, and she clearly had not grasped the severity of his situation); he gave no confirmation, but she proceeded to conclude her line of thought, shock stabbing at Severus again...

"What does that make you?"

The question hung in the air.

"A dishonest man," he answered softly.

She shook her head.

"A man who is willing to put his life on the line for a noble cause. A _brave_ man," Petunia returned. "You should have been in Gryffindor."

Severus chuckled long and low.

"Harry knows?" Petunia asked, looking at him from the corner of her eye, turning her face away; she was still reeling from what she had learned, though it was at least contained to the inside of her mind. Actually, considering the mess in her head, she couldn't quite believe she had put it together so fast and that Severus had admitted it to her just like that. She would never breathe a word of it to anyone, but for a moment there she had honestly doubted his intentions. She wanted to go back and smack herself for it. No matter what Severus had done, no matter how well he played the part, it was too cruel that everyone should so easily believe the worst of him.

"He does, but he still doubts my loyalties," Severus gave her a wry smile, "I'm a rather talented actor, Petunia."

"Maybe you should have pursued a career in muggle cinema instead of potions," she teased, but she was secretly a little devastated about Harry and Severus. Lily wouldn't have wanted this... At least she hoped her sister wouldn't.

"Perhaps..." Severus continued, and they bantered for sometime; soon Severus had compiled a stack of books for Petunia, and they both set to reading, enjoying the company, and not needing to say more. It was not until they were summoned by Pockey for dinner, the house elf glowing even more than usual at the evidence of amity, that Petunia recalled her very reason for seeking Severus out in the first place.

"Before dinner, Severus, I meant to speak to you about Harry's birthday. It's tomorrow." Petunia looked at him expectantly, but all Severus could do was to shift on his feet.

"Is it?" he asked. He knew full well.

"Yes. I don't suppose you'd want to participate would you?" Petunia asked hopefully.

Severus frowned. "Participate?"

"Yes."

"I do not know. I will be in the house I think, if that's what you mean."

If it weren't distressing to Petunia to receive an answer like that she would have laughed. "I think you should, Severus," coming as close to ordering him as she dared.

"Petunia, he and I are not..."

"No excuses." She gave him a kind smile and sidled past him before he had the opportunity to say more. It was for her own sake too that she wanted him there. She didn't know what she was doing even if she let on that way. This relying on Severus was not good.

_xxx_

Author's Note:

-Harry's birthday... I don't know where or what I wrote about that (since I wrote it before I finished the plot), but it's tomorrow in the story.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The next morning Harry was conveniently the last one to wake. Or at least everyone thought he was. Harry was actually in his room, receiving a number of owls from his friends, and even unwrapping one or two presents. He hadn't forgotten his birthday, but it had become such a sad event- a reminder that he was alone- and this year with Sirius gone, all that had happened with Uncle Vernon, and the awful news about Voldemort, in privacy he could hardly crack a smile. He read letters about his friends escapades, unsure of how he would answer them. It took him twice as long and most of his replies had been short: _Sounds like your summer is going great. Thanks for the birthday wishes! I hope to see you soon. _Ron and Hermione received little more besides notes thanking them for their gifts- a pair of quidditch gloves and goggles, and a book respectively.

Downstairs, Petunia was debriefing Severus, Dudley, and Pockey on the plan.

"Harry's favorite food... Do any of us know?" she asked, looking between the two sleepy looking humans and one bouncing house elf.

"I've seen him favor treacle tarts at Hogwarts, but I can't be say for certain," Severus offered. Dudley shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh!" Pockey waved an eager hand in the air to catch Petunia's attention. "Pockey will go ask Hogwarts house elves- they is be knowing." The elf disappeared before Peunia could so much as say_ good idea!_

In the meantime she told the other two that while Harry was upstairs in the evening she would blow up the balloons and decorate the dining room, and they'd have cake and presents afterward.

Pockey appeared then.

"Mister Harry's favorite food is being treacle tart!"

"Perfect! Thank you Pockey! Perhaps we should have cut up fruit and treacle tart for breakfast. If we have that at lunch then there won't be no room for dinner and cake." Pockey nodded. "That is, if it isn't too much-"

"Pockey will do!" He was gone, and whether he had some ready or not, Petunia was unsure, but she did not doubt that he would procure treacle tart, one way or another.

When Harry came down everyone was seated, but it was clear they were waiting for him to eat. He grinned a little when they wished him happy birthday; (the professor merely grunting in acknowledgement), and his eyes bulged when breakfast appeared before him, and he thanked Pockey with a goofy grin.

Towards the end of breakfast Harry let the professor know that he was almost done with his homework- would be done by evening- and he would bring it down for him to look over once more. Severus provided that he would be making a trip out in the afternoon, but he would be back for dinner most assuredly. Petunia and Dudley didn't have anything to add to this, and the group eventually dispersed, Dudley heading straight for the basement.

He and Pockey had stayed up for quite sometime playing video games, and Dudley wanted to help him clean up: then maybe they could play again. He was surprised that he found it entertaining at all, but he rather enjoyed himself. Dudley couldn't remember ever having a friend like Pockey who he'd actually had proper conversations with- well, as proper as a house elf could converse, which was more than proper enough, considering Dudley was the party being conversed with, but Pockey, too, was outside the scope of Dudley's social norms- that is, he couldn't exactly ridicule a _house elf_ for being strange or loony. He found Pockey's good nature a weight off his shoulders as well; he didn't have to act like he was something he wasn't, and he really didn't know what that was anymore. For the fact that it was his father who had done what he had done, Dudley carried no small amount of guilt around with him either, and somehow Pockey's philosophy of working away regrets seemed to do well for him; he felt a little better with each dish he washed, even though the sponge was foreign in his hands.

It was in preparing tomato soup and bread sticks for lunch that Dudley thought to ask Pockey, "Do you have any family?"

Pockey looked up from dropping some herbs and spices into the soup, and then pointed to a picture hanging on the wall; it was an old and worn photograph, discoloured with age, and the corners were damaged from having been tacked to the wall so many times, but Dudley could make out two house elves of Pockey's size only with slightly different features, and two impossibly tiny elves- one crawling around their feet with a small hand broom, and the other cradled in what was presumably the mother's arms.

"You have a sibling?!"

Pockey nodded enthusiastically, "Pocket. He is serving with other Princes."

"Other Princes?"

"Master Snape's far away family."

"Are his masters nice then?" Dudley asked curiously.

"Oh, yes!"

"Why don't you invite him over for Harry's birthday dinner then?" Dudley asked genuinely.

Pockey squeaked. "Oh no, Pockey couldn't! Pockey does not eat with master and guests, and Pocket will not either."

"Why not? Professor Snape won't mind- I can even ask him- and, anyway, I really want to meet him." Dudley shrugged, having taken his seat at the table once more. Before Pockey could protest anymore, he asked, "What about your mum and dad?"

Pockey shook his head, more contained than Dudley had ever seen him, with his ears bent forwards. "No," he said sadly.

"Oh," Dudley said, scratching his arm. "Sorry to here it."

"Papa and mama were good elves. Not being sorry, Mister Dudley."

"Well, you have to have birthday cake with us at least: you're practically the professor's family, and we're friends right?"

Pockey squeaked, "I should very much like to be Mister Dudley's friend," he enthused. Dudley grinned at the thought that someone- even a house elf- actually wanted to be his friend- as if washing dishes had somehow increased his value. He wanted to and tried to scoff at that, but his grin was too large, and it came out as a chuckle instead.

"Yeah, so you'll have dinner with us then?"

"Mister Dudley is first asking Master Snape, then calling Pockey," the house elf conceded, his ears sinking forward a bit.

"Fair enough."

_xxx_

After breakfast Severus had gone to his bedroom and dressed for the day in his traditional robes, scowling at having to do so; it was yet another hot day- no doubt even warmer in the suburbs of Surrey than at home, Snape Manor being nestled into the shadowed forest and thicket of Abbotsford. He likely wouldn't have worn his teaching robes at all, but he needed to look intimidating and imposing for what he was about to do- well, he didn't _need_ to, but it would help with adopting and maintaining his persona.

Severus cast a notice-me-not spell on himself even before stepping out of his home and then, having walked to the end of the lane, he apparated to the top of Privet Drive. The house at Number Four was dark and all the curtains were drawn, but Dursley's car was in the drive, so Severus made his way to the front door, ringing the doorbell first and then knocking. After a good wait and no response, Severus tried the doorknob; when he found it to be locked he drew his wand from within his sleeve, tapping lightly the brass. Even as he was letting himself in he could hear Vernon shouting inside and bulldozing his way to the door, alerted by the sound of the clicking lock.

"Who's there! I will not have any freaks in my home! GET OUT! The boy is not here!"

"Shut up, Dursley," Severus snapped, facing the fat man with a flourish, pushing the door shut behind him. Vernon had stopped dead in his tracks when he realized who had just entered his home, and he could feel loathing and anger rising inside of him so strongly that his breathing was restricted. Severus curled his lip at the state of the man, dressed in soiled clothing, reeking of alcohol, unshaved and unwashed, sulking and raging in his dark home: this was the type of _dungeon_ Severus hated.

"Who else has been here in the last three days?" he questioned, injecting as much menace into his expression as possible.

"No one-" Vernon said, caught off guard; then, "I'm not answering you! What the hell have you done with my wife and son?!"

"No, I didn't suppose you would cooperate, Dursley." Severus raised his wand and before the oaf could protest he cast the imperius. "You will answer all of my questions truthfully," he instructed. Dursley nodded deftly.

"Who has been here since my last _visit_?"

"No one," Vernon confirmed. Severus nodded in approval.

"Go to the kitchen, take a seat, Dursley. We have some work to do." In the kitchen, Severus stood, towering over the man with his arms crossed over his chest. "Have you received the divorce papers yet? Have you been in contact with Andrew?"

"No. No, I haven't."

"When you receive the divorce papers you will not sign them. If and when Andrew manages to contact with you, you will not succumb to the divorce proceeding. You must stay married to Petunia."

"I will stay married to Petunia," Dursley repeated, nodding.

"If someone does contact you- a _freak,_ as you so eloquently put it- you will give them nothing, answer none of their questions, no matter the cost." Dursley nodded again, and Severus considered just how far he should go: he could imperio Dursley into being a decent husband and father, but the idea of Petunia and the children returning to Privet Drive made him sick, and he doubted it would evoke any different feelings in them; he could remove Dursley's memories of his sister; or he could remove memories of Petunia, Dudley, and Harry altogether. He wasn't afraid to take liberties with Dursley's personal rights at this point, but Severus had a conscience, though... even if he didn't Petunia certainly _did_ and, however unfortunate it may be, he cared about what she thought and felt.

However, once cast the imperio could be released or recast, and while the effects would dissipate naturally over time and would likely easily be overridden by other magic, what he removed of the man's memories he would be unable to replace or recover. "_Legillimens_," he incanted, and dove into Dursleys mind, finding and drawing forward all his thoughts and memories of Severus in the last few years before he cast the lesser form of obliviate. The deed was done. When his eyes opened, Severus found Dursley fallen limp, spine and neck bent in an arc over the back of the chair with his mouth wide and his eyes open. Severus had withdrawn and erased memories before, but he never got used to the catatonia which followed depending on the severity of the removal. Dursely had had a number of thoughts about him it seemed, but Severus had kept to himself as much as he could, only once letting his mind wander and then to waver at the memory Dursley had brought forth.

He'd had simply wondered to himself in passing, _Did this man ever love Petunia?_ and Dursley had instinctively responded- an image, and a feeling come back to him- a memory of taking wedding photos just after their ceremony, Petunia looking lovely in a simple gown with her hair pulled loosely to the nape of her neck and a glinting diamond necklace resting on her chest. She was smiling brilliantly, and she looked utterly happy. Then she caught Vernon looking at her, and she turned her face up to him, her smile fading just a bit. _Is something wrong?_ He could see her lips move, but Vernon couldn't remember her voice; in fact, the scene was devoid of any sound. Vernon had smiled down at her; he was, Severus hated to admit it, a lot more decent looking then, a couple hundred pounds lighter, and not red in the face for once. _I'm happy, _Vernon had said. _You make me happier than I ever should have been, my beautiful Pet._ He kissed her on top of her head, and she laid her cheek against his chest, smiling contentedly. Severus could feel what that moment felt like: happiness and pride and relief all so strong that he literally felt like his chest was swelling. After that Severus redoubled his focus, afraid of what he would experience if he let his curiosity about the abuse bleed through.

After this it was with a sense of moroseness that Severus levitated Dursley's body to the couch, magicking the knit blanket hung over the back of it to cover him. He opened the curtains, and then he went home.

_xxx_

Dudley and Pockey remained in the basement until quarter-past-five at which point Petunia came and found them, poking her head around the corner with uncertainty. Her eyes widened a little at the sight of Dudley and Pockey at the little table, Dudley drawing something out (with quill and parchment no less) for Pockey who was frowning and trying to grasp the concept whatever it was, while things were moving about the kitchen of their own accord. She had them upstairs to help her with decorating soon, explaining on their way up that Severus was going over Harry's revisions and would keep him occupied until dinner. Petunia had purchased a number of decorations: balloons and streamers and party hats (the last of which were laid out on their dinner plates). Pockey saved the two much trouble by magically blowing up the balloons and hanging them and the streamers upon Petunia and Dudley's suggested placement. Then the table was set, and Pockey went to tell the professor and Harry that dinner was served before disappearing to the kitchen again.

Harry was properly surprised when he walked into the dining room.

"What is all this?" he asked, looking around at the colourful decorations, and missing the two gifts that were wrapped and placed on the hutch.

"Your birthday celebration, of course," Petunia answered.

"But- Why? Er- I mean-" Harry blurted and then blushed, fumbling with the sleeves of his jumper.

"No, it's alright." Aunt Petunia smiled. "This is just to show that things are different."

Harry nodded and not wanting to spoil the moment by lingering on it he put it aside for another time, focusing instead on enjoying the moment. He took his seat at the table and put on his party hat only for Petunia and Dudley to follow suit. Harry grinned, and then looked at the professor expectantly, who'd also sat down.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to put it on?" he asked.

The professor deadpanned.

"You know it's not all that different to witch and wizard hats. Dumbledore wears them all the time," Harry pointed out.

"_Professor_ Dumbledore, and you can't possibly believe I would ever actually wear one of the headmaster's hats."

"Well, if you had to impersonate him and had taken polyjuice potion..."

The professor gave Harry another long look.

"Right. What's the other hat for?" Harry asked, gesturing to another setting and another hat across the table beside Dudley; he thought for a moment that maybe Professor Dumbledore would be coming.

"Pockey's hat," Dudley explained, "You don't care if he eats with us do you, Professor?"

Snape blinked once and then shook his head.

"Pockey," Dudley called. The beaming house elf appeared the same instant, eagerly reaching out to strap the party hat to his over large head.

"It is being okay, Master?" Pockey asked as an afterthought.

"Yes, of course. I was merely following wizarding tradition before, Pockey. I have no qualms dining with you," Severus said, frowning at the over-happy elf who squealed with exuberance as he clambered atop the remaining chair. He didn't know why it had never occurred to him before, but now Severus thought he perhaps should have extended the invite sooner himself.

"It is being okay! Pockey is only happy to be with family now!" The top of the table came up to just below his chin, and he looked up at them with his saucer-sized eyes. Severus felt his mouth twitch down (not lost on Petunia who blushed), and after what could only be described as an awkward moment, movement seemed to break over the table again; Pockey- completely unawares the whole time- soon snapped his fingers, and everyone began loading their plates with the buffet of food that appeared. It was enough to get at least Harry and Dudley talking again, Petunia participating half-heartedly, and Severus still in a bit of shock.

He had eaten much less than half of his dinner when a searing, throbbing pain settled over his forearm, and he let his fork drop, quickly and without any thought pushing his chair back.

"Severus?" Petunia asked, surprised when he was suddenly on his feet without a word.

"I apologize. I know this is a special occasion, and you've done well Petunia, Dudley, Pockey, but I must excuse myself. I apologize," Severus said to Harry, and then he was already making his way to the front door, restraining the urge to transfigure his clothing right then and there.

"Is- Is everything alright with him?" Petunia asked the table at large.

Pockey, who had slouched lower in his chair, his ears dropping forward (that was really all that was visible of him) answered. "Everything is being fine Misses. Master is having business to take care of."

"The Dark Lord," Harry added, without a move, staring at the place he had last seen the professor, and realizing that his hatred really was less than what it had seemed; just a moment before, Harry had had a strange sense of peace and contentment- presumably from celebrating with everyone- but then suddenly Professor Snape was up and gone, about to face the Dark Lord, and Harry was feeling more than a little abject. Especially because the professor had apologized to him when maybe Harry should have been the one apologizing. He knew the horror that Snape was about to walk into, and he would do anything to have him back, because now more than ever Harry felt the professor did not deserve this.

"Well," Petunia said. She poked at her food with her fork, but she was looking at the unfinished plate Severus left out of the corner of her eye; it seemed a terrible and overwhelming thing. Pockey seemed to notice, and with a snap of his fingers, the plate was gone.

Dudley was looking at everyone with confusion on his face, but he understood that no one would willing to say more just then. Soon he began eating, and there was really nothing else to be done, so Petunia, Harry, and Pockey did as well. By the end of the meal they had begun talking again, but not with the same enthusiasm as before.

When dinner was finished, Pockey brought out the cake, and to Harry's pleasure and embarrassment, the three others sang happy birthday to him. Harry was waiting for them to make a move first before he left the table himself, but as it turned out, there was more after cake. Petunia turned in her seat, and pulled forth the gifts, sliding them across the table to Harry.

"Happy birthday," she said again. "This one is from me and Dudley," she said, tapping the top package, "and this one is from Severus and Pockey."

The house elf let loose a small squeal of excitement, and Harry laughed, saying, "You really didn't have to do this," though he was already tearing open the gift from Aunt Petunia and Dudley. "A CD player?" he enthused, picking up the box, and examining it.

"Yes. It takes batteries, so you can play it at school, I think. I can can just send you new ones when you need them."

"It's brilliant!" Harry picked up the smaller package that apparently went it judging by the colour of the paper wrapping.

"Those were some of Lily's favorite," Petunia explained when Harry had torn it open and was holding a small stack of CDs in his hands, "but of course we had records back then."

"Mum listened to the Beatles?" Harry asked. Petunia nodded. "Thanks, Aunt Petunia, Dudley. It means a lot to me." He gestured to the CDs with music Lily had once listened to. "I can't wait to use it, really!"

"Your welcome, Harry." Aunt Petunia smiled.

"Next one, Mister Harry!" Pockey cried, bouncing up and down with excitement.

"With pleasure!" Harry pulled the other gift toward him, grinning. Like the first this one was two parcels- one big and one small, and again Harry started with the larger of the two. The wrapping was a simple brown paper, and he had to rip it all off before he could get a proper view of title of the book. _The Occulders' Mind_. Harry felt his face light up.

"Does that mean Professor Snape will teach me occulmency?" has asked Pockey across the table, who was now standing on his chair. Pockey nodded enthusiastically. Harry flipped back the cover and a few pages, looking for the table of contents, but stopping at the sight of some lopsided, familiar-looking hand writing. _Happy Birthday. _Harry ran his hand over the dried ink, and then, realizing he was being watched, flipped the book closed and turned to the second package.

"Glasses for reading your book!" Pockey gave away before Harry even knew what it was; he shook his head, laughing. When he did finally get it open he looked a little skeptically at the glasses- circular lenses in a black frame that looked nearly the same as what he was already wearing, but how could Professor Snape possibly know his prescription? Harry pulled off his own glasses and put the others on. When he looked around everything was crystal clear, including Petunia and Dudley's gaping faces.

"The lenses just changed!" Dudley cried.

"How?" Harry asked looking at his reflection in the back of a spoon.

"Master and Pockey magicked them!"

"You _made _self-adjusting glasses?" Harry gaped. "That's incredible! I love it!" Harry gushed some more over his gifts before the group dispersed and then back in his room he fell asleep listening to music and reading the first chapter of his new text. He thought of Professor Snape more than once and had to fight off his worry, thinking to himself that Snape had confronted Voldemort a hundred times before, and he would return exactly as he had left, and soon enough Harry drifted off.

But while the rest of the household settled in, Petunia was up long into the night, waiting anxiously for Severus to return... She fell asleep long before that.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

As soon as Severus stepped over the property line of Snape Manor- already having transfigured his robes, and carrying his mask in one hand- he apparated, allowing the Dark Lord's magic entwined in his arm to guide him. Of course, Voldemort was still situated at Malfoy Manor; Severus had expected that. He walked through the gates, and began the trek up to the mansion; it was a half kilometer walk but the view was quite pleasant: the sun was beginning to sink on the horizon, so that the sky was a strikingly deep shade of blue; the black outline of the Manor or the tall-standing trees behind it could hardly be seen at all, but the firelight in the Manor's windows shone brightly. At the heavy wooden doors Severus waved his wand, and they swung open into the foyer, well-lit by the sconces lining the walls. Fenrir Greyback was standing there with another whom Severus did not recognize- _A baby lycan_, he sneered internally.

"They're in the West basement, Snape," Fenrir growled. Severus nodded in response and headed that way, his boot heels tapping on the marble floors. There would be no time to see Draco- perhaps on the way out if he weren't in _too_ poor a shape. In all honesty, Severus didn't expect to make it out anyway other than a bloody mess. If the Dark Lord had discovered that Harry was missing- which was the most probable reason for calling the meeting- then he would certainly take the brunt of his wrath. He also knew that he would be questioned thoroughly, and that his mind was about to be ravaged, and so Snape began his breathing exercises on the way down. By the time he reached the door he knew the meeting to be behind his mask had been fixed into place and his hood up drawn up.

Somewhere deep inside him Severus could feel the fear gripping him and making it harder to move smoothly than it out to be, dread gnawing at his bones. He hated this. He hated feeling like this. Each time he was summoned, he thought that he wouldn't be sorry to be struck dead right then and there, if only to spare him the pain he was about to suffer. It never got easier. Severus had tried taking pain medication and sedatives before hand once, and when Voldemort had realized this he had waited until the potions had left his system and then come at him twice as worse than usual.

"My lord." Severus dropped to one knee as the door closed behind him and the ring of dark, hooded figures rounded on him. The scent of the room accosted him as it usually did; Voldemort could never get away from it, and it lingered on the Death Eaters, too; it smelt like blood and festering, rotted wounds.

"Ah, Severus," the Dark Lord greeted. "How I have been anxious to see you." Voldemort spoke jovially from where stood across the room, barefoot in front of the hearth, his slippery skin reflecting the fire there; usually the fireplace was unlit and a single chandelier hanging in the middle of the expansive room in an inset in the ceiling was the only source of light, leaving the edges of the room shrouded in darkness..

"Do come in, Severus." Voldemort gestured to the middle of the circle, below the chandelier, and Severus knew what was about to happen was not going to be pretty. He forced himself to move forward, displaying not one show of hesitation, of his anxiety or fear; he could not allow even a portion of his true self to shine through, or he would be killed leaving behind a- _leaving behind a what?_- not a family, he thought; maybe leaving behind some friends-

The thought was dropped like a stone into a lake, and Severus's mind grew still. He'd been cutting it close- in the next instant he could feel a foreign presence touching his mind, and for a moment he thought he wouldn't have his defenses up in time.

Before any words were exchanged, Severus could already feel a memory being thrust at him, of Voldemort learning of the disappearance of Harry, that the Death Eaters tracking him could not find him; Voldemort had shown them all his anger in what was a particularly gruesome sight, of punctured skin and abused, discoloured, and swelling flesh. It served it's purpose of striking yet more fear into Severus.

"Why did you not inform me of the boy and the muggles... _relocation_?" Voldemort asked plainly.

"I did not know," Severus said, feigning a feeling of shock. There was a long pause, Voldemort attempting to overturn his mind.

"Severus, I have given you a unique opportunity in getting close to Dumbledore, but you have again failed to meet my expectations," Voldemort said. Severus could feel his muscles tensing. "I am very disappointed."

"I apologize my Lord." He dropped to one knee and hung his head in mock shame.

"You _apologize_?" Severus did not dare look up to see the way the Dark Lord's upper lip curled back to display a set of sharp teeth; instead he braced himself for impact. "_Crucio!_"

Severus gasped as fire scorched him inside and out, falling flat on the floor and panting even as the fist round had come and gone. He was glad for his mask, too, otherwise the other Death Eaters would have seen the tear which escaped the corner of his eye and ran down his face.

"_Crucio!_" It was cast again, and this time Severus convulsed a little. The Dark Lord, at least, had withdrawn from his mind for the torture, so Severus let the deepest recesses of his mind wander back to his last thought, of Pockey, Petunia, Dudley, and Harry. Feeling miserable enough to die, Severus allowed himself to pull forth a recollection of sitting across from his four _friends_ just before he had been attacked the first time; but it was just that: as Severus thought of them sitting across form him, and for a birthday celebration no less, Severus realized that he didn't feel like just friends. Though it was absolutely absurd to think of Harry Potter as anything other than a brat... Something like family, let alone a friend- Severus had to cut short his line of thought again, as the assault had deceased, and Voldemort was back to questioning him.

"Where has that old fool taken them?" Voldemort paced back and forth in front of him, his robes swaying.

"I do not know, my Lord."

"Legillemens!" Severus steeled himself, because the incantation was only needed by a wizard trained well in the mind arts when the intrusion was to be especially violent. He could feel thoughts coming and being torn from him and shredded to pieces, Voldemort clawing violently at his mind, and he could feel himself biting his own tongue in an effort to stop the screams- hard enough to draw blood. His secrets were of course safe, but that did not make it any easier.

_Why has Dumbledore not informed you of his plans? Where have you been and doing what that you did not know of this? Are you still loyal, Severus? _Voldemort's voice echoed in his mind and Severus offered up the false memories he'd constructed, of being tucked away in his lab and working for endless hours, and of Severus barely being able to contain his loathing the last time he had seen Dumbledore over a week ago, and seeing Lupin for his Wolfsbane potion showing no signs of knowing Harry was not where he was supposed to be only yesterday.

_My Lord, I will do what I can to serve you well. I will find Harry Potter, and I will learn of Dumbledore's plan._

Voldemort's mind slowly withdrew, and in his physical body he said aloud- likely for the sake of the other Death Eaters present- "You will, Severus, but not without incentive." Still, Severus thought, there would be confusion on the part of his colleagues over what had transpired between him and the Dark Lord on a much more private scale; Snape was sure the Dark Lord raped his mind as often as he did on the sheer basis that he enjoyed it and none of the others were advanced enough to reciprocate much mental activity, at risk of losing consciousness and never regaining it.

"Take him across the hall," the Dark Lord said, his eyes glowing intensely red and at odds with his dismissive tone. When Severus felt two hands close around either arm from his place on the floor, he wanted nothing more than to stay there with a cheek pressed into the cool flagstone to soothe his screaming mind. He was in and out of consciousness after that, and when he next came to it was to the sound of his own screams, his throat sore because apparently he had screamed for some time; his eyes had been wide, too... Severus couldn't remember them being closed, and moreover, he couldn't recall them opening. There were hooks buried deep in his flesh on either side of the shoulders holding him upright in a seated position, and some caustic potion had been poured on his bare chest causing his skin to melt, and finally he could tell he had been beaten by the way his body ached and throbbed- that alone was enough to make him vomit, but his stomach was empty, and so it simply hurt him when it collapsed and clenched inside of him. As soon as he realized how empty he was, he began to shiver.

"Well, Snape. You made it! The Dark Lord said to damage you in a way that would last but not to impede your duties- too much, anyway," Jacob laughed, gesturing to Snape, "and I think I've been fair, though I suppose you might have a different perspective. Shall I unleash you then?"

Severus tried to shake his head, but it was too painful; instead he dropped his chin to chest. He could handle this pain, he could handle it, he told himself; what he could not handle was the thought of what Jacob was about to do. He wanted to protest, but he didn't have it in him.

"Okay, Snape? Brace yourself."

"No," Severus moaned, trying to pull away. Jacob had placed one hand on his shoulder, the other around the handle of the hook, and then he was twisting it down and pulling it out of Severus's shoulder. He was beyond screaming anymore. He simply let the world fall away, until it was safe again.

_xxx_

Harry was jolted from sleep with a breathless yelp. The sheets pooled in his lap when he shot up, and he was so drenched in sweat that his hair was stuck to his aching forehead. Heaving, he reached to the bedside table for his glasses which he shoved onto his face even though he kept his eyes squeezed shut. _What had he just seen?_

Harry shuddered, and threw his legs over the side of the bed before deciding he didn't want to get up. He was too shaken- wandering an empty house wasn't going to help. And it wasn't like Snape was home yet.

He hadn't seen the interrogation as it happened, but he _had _seen glimpses of Voldemort's memory of it afterward, when the maniac worked himself into a rage ruminating on all that he had learned.

It wasn't the first time Harry had seen things like this obviously, but it was the first time something had disturbed him as much. He found himself feeling inexplicably isolated in the dark, and it suddenly felt extremely cold, too, unlike a few moments before when he'd woken up feeling like he was overheating.

"Shit," he swore, running a hand through his damp hair and pulling his legs back under the covers again. He wished he hadn't had a vision at all; he was now doomed to spend the rest of the night reliving moments of Snape's torture, fearful of sleeping again lest he slip back into Voldemort's mind.

He stayed sitting up with the blanket draped across his front until his eyes were drooping shut, and he was swaying on the spot with sleepiness with no real choice but to lay back into the pillows, seeming altogether more comfortable than they'd been before.

He clung, in his drowsy state, to the thought that at least the Dark Lord planned on having Severus back to his spy work- that meant he would ultimately be okay, and thankfully Harry was to have no more visions that night.

_xxx_

When Severus woke up he was hunched over on the ground, his shoulders feeling like hot irons were sitting on them, and his robes had been tossed on the floor in front of him. He didn't know how long it took him, but eventually he made it to his feet with the help of the wall and dressed himself, and with his wand in the pocket of his robes he cast a few spells to clean himself up. He was in a small room just large enough to house maybe four people or two and some equipment, and the door had been left open. Severus glanced around the room outside, but there was no one there- just a chair with a lamp and a small table next to it, and a rather large table covered with the aforementioned equipment, tools, and instruments. Doors lined the room, but Severus knew which opened onto the hallway, and he limped over to it, pushing away the memories he had of being the one to enter these rooms with the charge of damaging another.

He was almost to the foyer of the Manor when a call came from behind him, and he stiffened.

"Uncle Sev?" When Severus turned, Draco was standing behind him in his night-clothes: house coat and slippers, and his hair was slightly mussed.

"Draco, shouldn't you be sleeping?" Severus tried to discretely lean against the wall, but he knew it did not come off that way.

"I couldn't. I decided to take a walk... Are you okay?" Severus could see the fear in Draco's eyes. Long after he left his godson would still be fearful, and rightly so, but he shouldn't have to be; this was his home.

"I will be," Severus said, trying to sound sure of himself. He knew much of the damage was covered by his robes, and he was grateful for it.

"Can I help you? What can I do? Maybe you should see a healer this time; you really don't look well, Uncle Sev." Draco took a step forward extending a hand tentatively, as if Severus were a wild animal.

"No, there is nothing that can be done," Severus replied, ignoring Draco's hand in favor of pushing off the wall.

"Then I'll help you home. I'm going to worry about you if I don't."

Severus hesitated and then nodded once, and Draco rushed forward to tuck Severus's arm around his shoulder, taking some of his weight. He didn't know about the shoulder though, and when Severus bit out a cry he looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Uncle Sev?!"

"I'm fine, Draco. Just get me to the floo. I don't think I can handle apparating now."

"Can I come with you?" Draco asked as he helped his godfather into the fireplace.

"No. I just want to sleep. My house elf will take care of the rest. I will send an owl when I'm improved, and then you can visit, fair?"

"Not really," Draco said, he threw a handful of floo powder into the grate and green flames burst up.

Severus's last sight was of Draco putting his hands in his pockets, and when his robe shifted, feeling something wet, he looked down and noticed the blood covering his shoulder where Severus's own had been; he whipped around again, but Severus was already being sucked away, soon to stumble out of the hearth at Spinner's End, nearly dropping to his knees. He barely managed it to the upstairs bathroom where he plopped himself down on the tub after flicking on the light. He fished around the small first-aid cabinet he kept for situations just such as this and ended up downing a multitude of potions, and instantly he began to feel better. For the rest of the healing process- or what he could heal of the damage, excluding the chemical burn on his chest, and his beaten mind- he would have to sleep and rest for a few hours.

It hadn't even occurred to him to return to Snape Manor. There was simply no way he could bring himself around Petunia like this, and getting in contact with he seemed beyond his strength. All he wanted was to spend the night in peace and quiet at Spinner's End.

Severus downed another pain potion, and then he flipped on the shower, spelling away his ruined clothing before slowly slipping under the steaming water. It was absolutely excruciating, and by the end of it, Severus had bitten his lips bloody again, but ultimately he knew it would help the recovery process. He stayed in until the water at his feet was not dark red, but orangey in colour; when he got out he used a drying spell on himself instead of a towel, and magicked some bandages to wrap themselves around him; there was no slave he could apply to his chest or potion he could take for it since he would have to know precisely what had been used to treat it without simply making it worse.

He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

Severus decided he had not slept nearly well enough when movement across his wards woke him. The was knocking at the door, and for a time Severus had plans to ignore it, but then he thought better and rolled himself out of bed. It was early in the morning- five to be precise- and the sun would be rising soon, though it was still dark out. Pulling a robe around his tender body, Severus stalked to the door. When it swung back, he blinked it surprise to see Narcissa Malfoy standing there, Bellatrix Lestrange behind her.

"'Cissa?" he greeted, "Bellatrix." Narcissa he didn't mind so much, but Severus hated Bellatrix.

"Severus," Narcissa returned. "May we come in?" she asked, and Severus stepped back.

"Bella," Narcissa turned to her sister after pleasantries had been exchanged, "I need to talk to Severus in private."

"Go then." Bella shook her head and waved an arm.

Severus did not delay: he turned and lead Narcissa from the sitting room where he'd first taken them, to the kitchen behind that (Spinner's End was not a very large house, after all).

"Please sit," Severus gestured to one of the rickety chairs surrounding the equally rickety table of the same faded wood throughout the rest of the house, including the floors. If Severus wasn't mistaken his father had built that table- more than 35 years ago now, laying the floors as well, and using the same wood. Severus took a seat too, finding it amusing that Narcissa, despite being here before, seemed to be preoccupied with the disarray of his kitchen still- cupboard doors falling off, and appliances that were browning with age, not to mention the layer of dust that coated most surfaces.

"Severus," Narcissa said after a moment, her grey eyes finally meeting his own. "I am aware what an ordeal you've been through tonight. If there is anything I can do, please let me know."

"Narcissa, I know you did not come here to assure yourself of my well-being."

"You're right. I feel bad asking anything of you in the state you're in, but I have no one else to turn to."

"What is it?"

"It's Draco. The Dark Lord has a task for him."

Severus could feel his stomach flip and he literally had to sit back in his chair. "No," he whispered.

"Yes," Narcissa said, her voice strangled. "You are the only one who can protect him."

"Protect him?"

"Yes. Please, Severus, you have to-"

"I don't even know what this task is!"

"To kill Dumbledore."

Severus thought he felt his heart stop, the kitchen settling into silence. When he spoke it seemed his voice was altogether too big for the room. "_What?_"

"To kill Dumbledore," Narcissa said. A tear escaped her eye and ran down her cheek. "What am I to do Severus? He's my son...!"

He didn't know what to say.

"You must swear to me that you will protect him!"

"Narcissa what are you asking me to do?"

"Whatever it takes... You wouldn't refuse, would you? He's an innocent boy, and I know you... You aren't dark."

Severus would have stood up then if he was in any condition to. "What?" he deadpanned.

"I know you aren't dark. You're helping Dumbledore. Tell him what the Dark Lord has asked of Draco. Make him help him."

"What do you propose he do?" Severus asked incredulously. "Of course he could offer you protection, but unless he joins you, you'll be putting Lucius's life in danger, and if Lucius does agree to this you will still lose Malfoy Manor."

"I know, Severus." Narcissa shook her head, her blond hair shimmering, and her brows drawing together.

"Surely you don't expect him to sacrifice his life?" Severus hissed.

"No! I- I don't..."

He shook his head in disbelief. "Speak with him yourself, Narcissa. I am not who you think I am, but I suppose only the Dark Lord would be able to see that."

"I don't trust our Lord to know you, Severus Snape. You're fooling someone, and I believe it's the Lord Voldemort. It's not hard to fathom you as better in the mind arts than he. Our Lord has always been ruled by his emotions- but not you."

"What are you saying, Cissa?" Severus shook his head in disbelief.

"Slytherin men have their ruthless ambition, their determination, but Slytherin woman are far more sagacious, incisive... perceptive. I will reveal you to the Dark Lord if you don't swear to me to protect Draco. I don't want to, Severus. You are a good man... But I will. If I have to I will."

"Don't threaten me, Narcissa. You know nothing."

"I'll do anything, Severus. Draco isn't going to be able to kill Dumbledore, and Voldemort will kill _him_. Please."

"I will help Draco, but not because of your ludicrous threats."

"Swear it to me."

Severus hesitated, obviously.

"If you are loyal to me and in my debt." Severus conceded. He didn't feel the need to specify his terms.

He knew his denials would not be heard, and he had only made them lest the Dark Lord ever discover an incriminating confession in Narcissa's thoughts. It was the same reason he had been so vague about his end of the bargain; what he had said could be interpreted as a move to gain control over Narcissa. She knew this, too, of course; all she would have for the Dark Lord was her opinion, and he would never believe that the Lady Malfoy could catch something he had missed. Not unless she had evidence; Severus had no doubt that if he gave her cause to look she would find some, but that didn't mean he would be party to it, or that he should be put at risk in the meantime.

Still, even with their deal and the unlikelihood that she would give him up, Severus did not like her suspicions, nor the idea of having to take further action to make sure his safety; he especially did not like being backed into a corner by her. What decisions he made and what actions he took would be done of his own volition.

"I will owe you my life," Narcissa promised, assuaging him somewhat.

"Very well."

Narcissa rose and reached out a slender hand to help Severus up, but he shook her off. In the living room, Bellatrix was lounging on the sofa, her feet propped up on the arm of it as she flipped through a book of Severus's which she'd obviously drawn from one of the shelves lining the room.

"Ah, there you are!" she said, Severus barely able to contain a shudder at the sound of her shrill voice. She dropped the book carelessly on the coffee table with a _thud_, ignoring the glares she received. Bellatrix thrust herself off the sofa with her hands on her hips. "Well? What say you, Severus?"

"Let's get this over with."

_xxx_

"Has Professor Snape not come home yet?" Dudley asked the next morning when he arrived downstairs. Harry and Petunia were sitting in the living room, Petunia with her feet tucked under her and her robe pulled tight around her looking haggard.

"No." She shook her head.

"Did you sleep at all?" he asked, taking a seat next to Harry.

Petunia didn't answer.

"I'm sure he's okay," Dudley said, though he didn't sound very certain.

"Yes, I'm sure is," Petunia agreed. "Well, I'm going to shower and dress."

Dudley watched his mom leave and then turned to look at Harry.

"I'm just going to finish the reading. Professor Snape'll be fine. Don't worry about it, Dudley."

"Can I ask you... about the war?" Dudley looked at Harry from the corner of his eye. He was leaning against the back cushions with his feet planted on the ground and a book propped in his lap looking rather stiff.

"Er... yeah," Harry said, laying his book down to show that he had given his whole attention.

"Why did Professor Snape have to leave last night?"

"Because he's spying on the Dark Lord."

"The Dark Lord is Voldemort? The one who's after you? Who killed Uncle James and Aunt Lily?"

"Yeah," Harry said, turning to look out the window. He didn't want Dudley to see how much it still meant to him that his parents had been murdered because of one man's paranoia; if Voldemort hadn't come that night, hadn't put Harry in this position, he hoped he never would have gotten involved in the war.

"Why is he trying to kill you?"

"Because I'm the only one who can kill _him_," Harry explained. "There was a prophecy made, and that's why he killed my parents, but he couldn't kill me."

"He couldn't?"

"Well, he tried," Harry corrected. "That's how I got the scar."

"Can't someone else kill him?"

"No. I don't think so."

"That's stupid," Dudley muttered.

Harry tried to laugh, but he couldn't. The clock chimed on mantel and he looked away. He figured they must have really hurt the Professor if he had not returned by now.

"Well. If I can do anything," Dudley gestured toward Harry, "You can just let me know."

"Thanks, Dudley. I will."

"It's kind of dangerous for the Professor then, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Harry felt himself tense up, and he pretended to be looking at his book again.

"Why is he still spying then?" Dudley asked, scratching his head as if her were really quite confused.

"To help with the war effort." Harry shrugged; he didn't exactly know. If he were Snape, and he didn't _have _to be involved he wouldn't. He would move to America, change his name, and lose the accent.

"Is it worth the risk?"

"No. Er, I mean, it must be. I don't know." Harry's mouth turned down at the corners. "Maybe it used to be, and now it's not anymore."

"Why, what happened?" Dudley asked; Harry's last sentiment seemed significant to him- though _Harry_ had no intention of it seeming that way; as soon as Dudley questioned him he realized he had misspoken.

"...Like maybe I didn't think the risk was so high before and now I do. I mean, I used to think Professor Snape was fooling Dumbledore and not Voldemort, and I used to hate him- well, I do hate him, I think. And he hates me. But I don't think he should have to risk his life anymore. Maybe I- I don't know- was a bit harsh before, or immature."

"He doesn't hate you," Dudley said, shaking his head.

"How do you know that?" Harry asked, less concerned with the idea that Snape might not hate him then how Dudley could know something like that.

"Do you spend time making thoughtful presents for people you hate or let them live with you?"

"But he told me he hated me!"

"He's a spy, though. Isn't he good at lying?"

"Why would he lie!" Harry exploded. He didn't want things to change. Then he'd have to worry about Snape even _more_.

"I don't know! _Because_ he's a spy? Because _you _hate _him_?" Dudley shot back. He drew a little away from Harry, who was looking strangely upset by what he had said.

"I don't hate him- that much!" Harry exclaimed, confusion evident.

"You sort of sound like you want to hate him, though," Dudley observed.

Harry glanced at him sharply. "Whatever."

"Okay, whatever," Dudley mimicked Harry's tone. "I hope he's alright."

"Where are you going?" Harry asked, when Dudley suddenly stood up.

"'See what Pockey's doing." Dudley couldn't very well see Pockey _not_ worrying about the Professor, and if he was, he thought he should try to distract him or something like that.

Harry however watched Dudley go with a confused and outraged look, and spent the rest of the day studying his occulmency book and practicing alternately.

They did their best to get on as if Snape were not missing at all.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Severus was still in excruciating pain later that day, limping his way down the drive home to Snape Manor. After Narcissa had left he'd downed a pepper-up potion and immediately sought Dumbledore. They'd been holed up in his office for the entire morning and most of the afternoon, Severus holding out for his home-brewed potions when he was finally released. It had taken a lot longer than Severus had expected to hash everything out. Dumbledore had concurred that he had done right by promising to protect Draco, but he didn't think the unbreakable vow was a necessary or prudent move on his part. He hadn't bothered to explain to the old coot that Draco actually meant something to him and in a way, the vow would serve as an inducement to actually do something about the situation, rather than letting another innocent boy fall to the wayside on his watch; he cared so much in fact, that even if Dumbledore were not willing to give his life- which it turned out he was- Severus would his own. He was going to die anyway, he told himself; he might as well milk his miserable life for all it was worth.

By the time Severus was at the door he was feeling anxious and nervous, and he could not understand why. He drew a steadying breath and pushed the door open, stepping into the foyer, and closing the door behind him before venturing around the corner into the living room. Petunia, Dudley, Harry, and Pockey were sitting around the table with some half eat sandwiches scattered over the surface. They all looked up as one when Severus caught their attention, and he let out the breath he had held.

"I apologize-" he started to say.

"Severus!" Petunia cried, jumping up and rushing over to embrace him. He instinctively received her, but as soon as she made contact, fire erupted across his chest enough to make him double over gasp for air, the fabric of his shirt chaffing against his bandages in a horrifying way.

"Severus! Severus, what's wrong?!" Petunia a hand on his back and was bent over to look him in the eye, only he had let his hair fall forward to cover his face.

He heard a pop then, and Pockey's voice sounded next to his ear. "Master?!"

He held up a hand to stop everyone, breathing in and out for a time before slowly straightening.

"It's alright," he said, hearing his own deep voice as if existing outside of himself. "Pockey, will you bring me my potions?"

Severus lowered himself gingerly into a chair at the table, and Petunia took a seat as well, drawing her chair closer to him with concern clear in her face.

"What happened?" she asked, disbelieving.

Severus only shook his head.

"I was going to get Professor Dumbledore," Harry provided, a sense of guilt weighing on him that he hadn't.

"No need. I was with him the last few hours. I did not have time to make contact, however." Severus said, looking to Petunia at the end.

Harry had to bite his tongue from questioning the Professor more on what had happened- after all it wasn't his place. Silence fell over the table when Pockey apparated back in, and Snape began throwing back potions like an addict. When the last vial hit the table he looked up. "I'm going to sleep now if you'll excuse me. Harry, we will proceed with your occulmency lessons tomorrow."

"Right. Thank you, for the birthday gift, Professor," Harry said, as Severus turned to leave. He nodded before disappearing upstairs.

Petunia sunk deep into her chair.

"Thank god," she breathed.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Severus had gotten out of bed only once in the time he retreated to his room, and only to relive himself. He'd burrowed deep into his silk bed linens, snuggled in his duvet. The curtains were drawn and the room was thrown into darkness. For over 12 hours he was in and out of consciousness, Pockey coming in to replace the water, food, and potion supply at his bedside table, and giving him updates of the household proceedings when Severus asked. The last of such inquiries led Pockey to tell him that Miss Petunia was on the phone and Mister Harry had (already) finished reading the text he had received from them for his birthday.

"Master Snape should have seen Mister Harry's face," Pockey bubbled from the side of the bed, his head just visible to Severus who was laying on his side with the blankets pulled up and around him so that only his face was showing.

"He was pleased?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, yes!"

"Good." Severus thought. One thing he really appreciated about Pockey was that he didn't ask excessive questions, if any. Severus prompted, "I suppose he's eager to begin occulmency lessons then?"

"Pockey does not know." He wasn't one to make assumptions either.

"He likely is," Severus said, sitting up abruptly; he was also wondering about that phone call Pockey had mentioned. Swinging his legs over the end of the bed Pockey began to squeak.

"Master Snape should stay in bed, sir!"

"Nonsense, Pockey. I've been in bed for an entire day. Will you start the bath and retrieve some fresh clothes for me?" Severus took another strong-brew pain reliever, cursing the dizziness, before showering (even so, the water hurt badly, but he knew he could take no more than that if he wished to stay any semblance of lucid), then dressing and making his way slowly downstairs. Petunia was in the living room and was just hanging up the phone when he walked in; she stood up see him properly.

"Severus. How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling better, 'Tunia," he assured her with only a slight slur in his speech hardly perceptible; he had long since mastered the art of overcoming irritating side effects. "Is everything well with you?" he questioned, looking pointedly at the telephone.

"Oh! Yes. That was just Andrew. He's been in touch with Vernon this morning, but he's refusing to sign the divorce papers."

"Pardon me?" Severus asked, feeling a ridiculous pang of guilt.

"He refuses to sign the divorce papers. I'm... a little confounded."

"And angry?"

"It hasn't sunk in enough for that quite yet."

"I see."

"I know this is the first we've spoken in a while, Severus, but I feel like I need to write a lis- I mean, think it over! I feel like I need to think it over. I would like to talk later, though, if that's alright." Petunia was already stepping towards the doorway.

"Of course. It's not a problem at all."

After Severus watched her go with a wry look, he went searching for Harry and found him in the backyard, soaking up the sun on the furthest bench from the house, flat on his back with an arm slung across his eyes.

"Am I interrupting?"

"Professor!" Harry pulled his arm back and then swung his legs down off the bench, sitting up. Severus lowered carefully to spot beside him, breathing deeply trying to enjoy the sense and sounds of his garden and the feel of the sun on his face, instead of focusing on the sickening tingle of his wounds what he knew would be an unbearable pain if not for the potions he'd taken. "You're alright then, sir?"

"Yes, I'm fine." He thought he would be if the world would stop spinning, and he could just keep from vomiting.

"That's good."

Severus rearranged his knit sweater around him, Potter, he noticed, watching from the corner of his eye.

"Professor... It was my fault? That you were summoned and tortured, I mean." Harry looked at his hands entwined in his lap. He didn't even know why he was asking, pretending that he hadn't seen what he had; maybe he was trying to discern if Snape was angry at him or blamed him, but there was none of that in the Professor's voice when he answered.

"I fail to see how it could be. It was my choice to remove you from Privet Drive, after all, and it was the Dark Lord who summoned and attacked me- not you."

_Yes, but you were summoned and tortured _because _I went missing? ..._Harry knew he could argue. He knew he was right: it was his fault. But he didn't argue he bit his tongue.

It was a blessing if Snape didn't blame him for this, and Harry figured he owed it to him (because it _was_ his fault, all of it) to at least humor his delusions or to keep from burdening him with the knowledge that Harry's guilt was so great it was almost crippling. He couldn't put that on anyone else. It would only make it worse, anyway (he'd feel guilty for it, and they would worry and try to fix him which they would never be able to). Today, however, his sense of responsibility made him more determined to face his challenges, instead of making him feel defeated before even trying which was often the case. That was why when Snape asked, "Are you ready for your first occulmency lesson?" Harry was relatively enthusiastic.

"As soon as possible!" He stood up, and turned to face the Professor. "Where do you wanna' do this?"

"Actually, here will be fine. Before we start, I'd like to hear what you learned from the readings." Severus was pleased enough with Harry's understanding of the material. Of course he was building on what he had already learnt, but Severus presumed the book paired with their more reputable relationship status would make him much more successful this time around; not to mention that the boy now saw how imperative it was that he learn.

"Good." Severus stopped for a moment of consideration. Harry took a seat on the ground across from him, on one of the walking stones wedged into the grass.

"I'll cast legillimens on you first, to assess the strength of your shields, but I want to try something different after that."

"What?" Harry asked skeptically.

Severus pursed his lips a little.

"If you will allow me, I would like to access your mind and guide you through the process of erecting shields, perhaps. Just once."

Harry frowned. "That's brilliant, but- why didn't we do that before?"

Severus deadpanned.

"You have one minute to prepare yourself before I test your shields." In the time he allowed for Harry to clear his mind, Severus steeled himself to vacate his own head, throbbing somewhat behind the effects of the pain potion. He couldn't really feel it; at least he wasn't anymore aware of it than he was the dull ache consuming the rest of his body.

He let loose a breath, long and slow...

"Ready now- _legillimens!_" His body, as expected, protested the action, jaw clenching and hands curling painfully around the edge of the bench as he thrust out of his own head, but Severus moved past this, forward toward Harry- finding a crack in his unimpressive shield and using it to shatter the whole thing.

The task seemed gargantuan, and it shouldn't have required so much effort, but Severus realized he had overestimated how much his body was affecting his mind. He didn't have the energy to exercise and form his mental self in just the right way; in fact, what was left of his control was quickly slipping from him as if in slow motion.

It too became clear that he had misconstrued conceptions about not only the weakened state of his body and mind, but the prowess of his judgement. He found himself asking in the space between knowing his focus was failing and the time that it actually did, what the hell he had thought practicing occulmency after dosing himself with as many potions. These thoughts, though, were mostly masked in a fit of panic.

His weakened mind no less than snapped, and snapped whilst in Harry's own; he felt his control (his boundaries) and his awareness of the discerned lines between himself and all else break right in his grasp where he held them. He was dispersed, spread thin over Harry, just like that as his thoughts scattered, losing focus on the spell he had just cast.

_Occulde your mind,_ he tried to convey across the confusion and their mutual pain. He was pulling out with everything he had, and yet Harry seemed to be the only thing keeping him together: it was the shape of Harry's mind that was the template by which Severus molded his own, and in this fashion they seemed to be reflecting each others' thoughts.

Harry's memory of opening presents came to him, his happy surprise, and the true depth of what it meant to him to receive new glasses and Lily's music, too. He was so grateful... And so guilty because he was celebrating even though Sirius was not there to celebrate with him.

Seeing this new side of Harry reminded Severus of Draco, and suddenly the memory was pulled from him, of limping across the foyer of Malfoy Manor and Draco's concern as he helped him into the floo, and the sickening feeling of leaving him behind Severus had done that, too, for Harry and his family and the war. He wanted to bring Draco home with him, to keep that precious child safe.

And that memory spiraled into yet another...

_What happened after Voldemort had you taken to the dungeon?_ Harry wanted to know.

Severus's mind went there even without wanting to, all the memories laid out for Harry's perusal. He had hooks in his shoulders and a caustic potion poured down his chest, his tongue and mouth bleeding still from resisting the cruciatus curse, and fractured bones and bruises from the beating; a memory of pain so incredible that Severus had for a time wished with all his heart that he might just die there- that someone would kill him and save him from his own hell.

_I have never even come close to being that badly beaten_, the horror was in Harry's thoughts. He wanted to offer some sort of understanding, some empathy._ I _have_ wanted to die, though._

A memory from over the summer, not too long before Severus had brought him to his home was given, of sitting in his cupboard with a shard of broken mirror clutched in his hand and feeling so alone it cut him like a knife, hurting enough to make him crave escape.

_You _should_ hate me, _Harry continued,_ I've done it before._

Severus couldn't understand why the boy was taking this crisis as an opportunity to get to know one another, but he was, giving up more memories, memories in which he was filling in the empty recesses of Voldemort's mind at his most psychotic... Overlapping all the images of the victims he'd seen tortured were images of Severus from moments before, as if seeing that had increased the trauma of the others.

It was a rather disturbing thing for Severus, but it was what they had all experienced- everyone who had ever been prey to the Dark Lord.

_I've tortured people with Tom, and when it was Death Eater's I think enjoyed it,_ Harry gave up. Severus was surely the only adult who wouldn't and didn't recoil in fear of what he saw or in repulsion at the dark of Harry's mind; instead he absorbed everything Harry had given him, and not without a grain of familiarity.

_I don't hate you_.

Harry's mind began to drift to the time that he had violated Snape's privacy and let himself into his pensieve, albeit with a keen sense of remorse. It was the incentive Severus had needed to finally pull himself once and for all from Harry's mind, before anything else of his privacy could be revealed.

He had no recollection of plummeting into darkness as soon as his mind was loosed, of returning to his body, or of being taken by Pockey to his room where the house elf took up yet another round of vigil.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Harry and Dudley were sitting outside later that night. The sky was darkening, the air was cooling, and a number of insects were about, but Harry didn't mind and Dudley didn't seem to much, either.

He had told Dudley about what had happened to the Professor after the Headmaster had come and gone- not without probing Harry's mind for damage (shields up, of course) first; the Headmaster did not stay any longer than that. Snape was still unconscious in bed, and Dumbledore had told him that that would likely be the case for the next day or so, but that the Professor would be fine once his mind re-calibrated and he rested for a while. When Harry had finished recounting the story, Dudley simply said, "I think it'll be fine." Then they lapsed into silence, Harry sitting on the bench with a knee pulled up and Dudley sitting on the ground with his back against the seat of it.

Harry didn't know what to think... When he thought about all he had 'shown' the Professor, he felt a little bit sick. Privacy was and had been the only thing that kept him together for a long time: the idea that he couldn't break down, fall down, or slow down because if he did everyone would find out about him had been his driving force for years- since before entering Hogwarts even. It almost felt now that that incentive was not there, even though Snape was only one man, and he hadn't given Dudley any of the details on what the transfer had included.

"What if someone found out something you didn't really want them to know?" he asked Dudley.

"Like what?"

"Like- I don't know. Something you don't really want anyone to know. Like if it was a girl and she read your mind and found out you're a virgin," Harry grinned. Dudley turned around and charlie-horsed his leg, though Harry had moved fast enough that it was more of a cuff to the thigh than anything.

After Dudley had readjusted he said, "I don't know. I guess it wouldn't bother me. What are you supposed to do about it?"

"Wouldn't that... make you uncomfortable?"

"Er... Well, no. If she did it on purpose I'd be upset, and if she didn't then I couldn't be. It's not like it would be my fault either way, so why should I be uncomfortable about it? 'Not like it would change anything or make a difference to her."

Harry nodded, even though Dudley could not see him.

When he thought about it, he supposed there wasn't really any point in being uncomfortable about it, but he couldn't seem to make the feeling go away. He supposed it would have to wait until he saw Snape again to resolve itself, and that filled him with dread while on the other hand he was eager to see the Professor on his two feet again, well and recovered. He did not want to consider what the Professor was going to have to say to him... After what happened with the pensieve, it was not hard to imagine him casting the crutiatus on him.

_Okay, maybe that's a little extreme,_ Harry thought.

Both he and Dudley were absorbed enough in their own thoughts that they didn't noticed Petunia from a distance or when she made her way over. She shifted her weight around on her feet a little and then cleared her throat to get the boys' attention.

"I have something to talk to you about," she said.

"What is it?" Dudley asked.

Harry sat up; he could tell this was not going to be good.

Petunia sighed and took a seat on the bench next to Harry, pausing to collect her thoughts.

"Vernon will not divorce me." There was silence, and Petunia sighed again. "When I spoke to Andrew yesterday he told me that Vernon refused over the phone, and today he went there in person... Vernon shut the door in his face. I asked him if I should not speak with him, but he insisted that was not a good idea. So," Petunia watched a butterfly wending it's way through the plants, "I have to go to a judge to bar him from objecting the divorce. Then there will be the divorce hearing itself a month following, and likely the divorce will be granted. That could take... quite some time. I was hoping for an easy separation, but now, that will simply not be possible. That means, for the time being, there is no division of assets. That means I haven't enough money to support us just yet. I have to find employment."

"But..." Dudley had turned around, and was looking up with disbelief in his eyes. "Where can we go?" He wasn't about to own up to the small bit of relief he felt that his parents were not splitting up- he didn't even _want _to feel it.

"I've come up with a solution- well, sort of." Petunia looked guiltily at Harry. "I'm not sure if Dumbledore will let you come with us Harry- to Aunt Marge's."

"You're going to Aunt Marge's?" he asked.

"Yes. She's in the hospital, and she won't mind us there. Vernon won't think to look for us on the ranch, either. But it's just temporary until- as I said- I can find employment, and then I can afford a rental at least."

"Your right," Harry jumped in, practically cutting off his Aunt. "Professor Dumbledore won't let me come. Aunt Marge's property isn't in your name, Aunt Petunia, so I won't have any protection there-"

"But then what will you do?" Dudley asked before Harry could continue.

"I'll go to Grimmuald Place," he said with no small amount of disappointment in his voice. "School is in another 3 weeks anyway. Maybe I can visit the Weaselys, too."

"But there has to be some way you can come with us."

Harry shook his head. "Doubt it. Though I really don't mind," he lied. "Grimmuald Place is my house anyway."

"_What_? Why haven't you ever gone there before? And why didn't we just go there, instead of coming here?"

"Well, I only inherited it this year," Harry said, looking away and trying not to think about Sirius or to let the thought slip again that he had gotten him killed. He would deal with the grief when he came to it, but if he were being perfectly honest he felt stronger than ever in the face of it; he could and would deal with it, he decided, because Aunt Petunia, Dudley, even the Professor, had renewed his sense of determination to protect those he cared about. He would always be guilty, and it would always hurt, but he would push it aside because he absolutely had to.

"I guess you _could_ come to Grimmuald Place, but I doubt that would be a good idea. It's our headquarters, and there are people there all the time, and you wouldn't be allowed to come and go because it has to remain secret; if you go to Aunt Marge's, you'll be in less danger because you won't be able to show people where it is, either."

"Oh." Dudley gave his mother a regretful look. "So we'll go our own ways."

Petunia nodded.

"...So we all agree and accept?" she asked.

"Yup," said Harry.

"Okay, it's decided then." Petunia gave a firm nod.

_xxx_

After waking the next day, Severus immediately climbed from his bed, snatched up his black robe, and went from his room, duly concerned about what he might have done to Harry; Pockey, who had been at his bedside kicked up a fuss, but Severus sent him off with a few chores in no time, ascertaining first where he could find Harry.

"In the living room with Mister Dudley," the elf provided, his dissatisfaction in being dismissed crystal clear.

With a quick but sincere apology Severus made his way to the living room, ignoring the way his knees wobbled when he took the stairs. Harry and Dudley were sitting on the sofa, the post was forgotten between them, and both looked perfectly healthy- and lucid, thank Merlin.

"Oh. Professor," Harry said, apprehensive.

"Are you well?" Severus immediately asked.

"I had Pockey take you upstairs and fetch the Headmaster. He said you just needed to rest. And I'm fine. Are you alright?"

"I would like to have a word with you in my office, if you will," Severus gestured for Harry to go before him, which he did after shooting a look at Dudley who gave him a reassuring look in turn. Harry frowned at himself; it was weird enough that he had talked with Dudley about this in the first place, but just now he had turned to him for- for what?- solidarity? It was mental.

Severus wasn't sure what Petunia would think, but in his office he went to the bar and poured Harry and himself both a glass of scotch, handing one off.

Severus took a seat behind his desk, across from Harry.

When he'd tried to teach the boy occulmency the first time, Severus's assaults, though they might not have seemed it, _were_ controlled and always executed with the intention of conveying just how serious it was that Harry learn to protect his mind and there was never any danger; this time however, was different. The fact that he had had _no _control... It caused a sickness to settle in him. "I sincerely apologize for not being more prudent. I put you in real danger, Harry. It could have been far worse. I suspect it was relatively traumatizing for you."

"No. Not really. I didn't know what was going on," Harry provided. He could get on board with this: focus on Snape's mistake, not on what had been brought up.

Severus nodded thoughtfully, "I went too far out of myself, too far from my magical core. My discipline- _I_- was weakened from the other day. I could not hold myself together, my shields broke, and while human minds are not precisely cohesive the natural shields of your own worked to hold mine together; I existed next to yours, but some meshing was inevitable. I hope nothing... too revealing came up," Severus rumbled on. "If you feel demeaned in anyway, we can work on extracting the memory, but you should know before you make a decision that I think no less of you for what I saw." He could hardly believe the words coming out of his own mouth, but there they were. He owed the boy for what had happened, though.

Harry felt himself tense at the sudden change of direction, but at once relaxed. It was not as bad as what he had thought; the Professor didn't seem to be making a big deal out of it (which was Severus's precise strategy for handling the event, though Harry knew nothing of it), and what's more, the Professor didn't seem to be at all angry.

"Er- well, I suppose it isn't that big of a deal."

"No," Severus concurred with a burning swig of scotch. Harry likewise took a sip in the ensuing silence; his face scrunched from the taste.

"And I suppose you... get it."

"I believe I do."

"...Actually I should apologize, too. I was a bit of a git to shove all that on you just then," Harry said quietly after thinking for a moment.

"Potter, it's terrible that a child should have to bear what you do, but it is a simple thing for me- it's been my reality for many long years. Do not take on anymore guilt for this. It is not your position to take care of me- quite the opposite, in fact...

"Dumbledore should have involved himself more after Black."

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, though it was far from how he felt. His heart was rather pounding in his chest.

"You should not feel as you do, Harry. None of this is or ever has been your fault; you cannot even pretend to believe that you ever had a desire for any of these things to happen, and _that_ in and of itself is all the integrity my point could want.

"And you are not expected to morn forever; Black would not want you to.

"Moreover- and to address the rest of what I saw- you aren't abnormal for having darkness in your mind: we all do. If anything, knowing what you have experienced within the Dark Lord, it's remarkable to me you aren't even _more _dark. You've done extremely well."

"Have you ever enjoyed what you do?" Harry asked passively.

Severus had to stop and think about Harry's question before deciding how to respond. "Yes, I have," he said truthfully.

Harry had not been expecting that answer. He blinked. "Then we must be more alike than I thought," he said sardonically and with good humor.

"Yes, I believe so." Severus indulged him and feigned trying to hide a pained expression.

Harry smirked. "Sir, if that's everything-"

"Actually, it's not. I should ensure your mind is undamaged."

"Dumbledore did that."

Severus raised his brows. "You let him?"

"I didn't exactly have much of a choice," Harry growled.

"Watch your tone, Potter."

He glowered.

"I am still your Professor."

"Are you going to treat me like shit again when we get back to school?"

"If you actually put some effort in-"

"Effort?!" Harry cried in outrage. Severus didn't respond, and Harry didn't really want to get into an argument, so he settled for projecting negative energy across the desk.

"Your just like your-" Severus began to say, then cut himself short, wincing internally. Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was their banter, but he seemed to have temporarily fallen back into the normal roll he played in their volatile relationship.

"Like my father? Like Sirius? Then I guess that makes you like them, too, since we are so alike."

"Potter!" Severus warned.

"It's such an insult, is it?"

The professor could not bring himself to reply; it _was _an insult to him.

"You've shown a lot of bravery in this war, Professor. It's a wonder you weren't sorted into Gryffindor. Maybe you'd have been a Marauder if you had been- maybe you'd have even replaced Pettigrew." Harry spat the last name, raving mad, and he felt no remorse for the provocation. He put down his hardly touched scotch on the desk with a loud _clank._

Severus's lips thinned, and he breathed deeply through his nose. "Sarcasm does not become you; for that matter, neither does cynicism."

"Oh, that's not hypocritical at all! Like I care about what becomes me- or what you think for that matter! I have a war to win, the same as you!" Harry shot out his chair as if his pants were on fire. "And quit trying to absolve me of my guilt! It's useless because, as I said, I really _don't_ care what you think!"

Harry turned and stormed out of Severus's office, the library door slamming shut behind him, as he went seeking out the solitude of the back garden once more.

_xxx_

Severus remained at his desk for sometime after that, breathing deeply until his boiling anger came to a simmer and finally cooled. He considered carefully how Potter had reacted, feeling as if he had gained some valuable insight into him. For starters: he _did _care, and quite plainly. Second of all, Harry was harboring all the responsibility and guilt he possibly could. If Severus could find a way to work with the boy _peacefully_, he would; he was, in any case, likely the only one in a position to be able to help.

The Potions Professor quickly grew short on that line of thought; it made him uncomfortably anxious.

Severus later lifted himself out of his chair, of course being mindful of his sore body. As he was stepping out of his office he was greeted by the sight of Petunia lounging and reading on a sofa just across the foyer in the living room. He crossed to her.

"Petunia?" Severus asked, feeling more than a little on edge. He watched her as she looked up, then back down, and marked the page of her book before putting it to the side.

Petunia heaved a sigh, and attempted to relax her stiff limbs.

"Take a seat, Severus." She waited for him to settle into the sofa across form her, his concern quite clear. "I've spoken to Andrew. When he called me to let me know that Vernon had refused over the phone to sign the divorce papers we agreed it would be prudent for him to approach Vernon in person, but Vernon refused again. I gave some thought as to what to do, and I've talked to the boys about this, and now I've reached a resolve.

"Harry has agreed that he will move to Grimmuald Place where he will be safe and have access to you and others to continue his training. Dudley and I will move into Marge's place. Marge is still in the hospital, and Vernon would have no reason to go there. We hired a caretaker for the animals when Marge was in the accident, and I'll simply ask him not to say anything to Vernon about us.

"While Harry is away at school this year, I'll get on my own two feet- get a job, a home in my name- and then Harry can come home over summer. I feel awful about him going separately, but he agrees this is the best possible solution."

Severus gazed at her intently for a time.

"I am sorry, but I don't think it is, 'Tunia."

Petunia frowned. "For whatever reason, Severus?" She had a feeling she had seen this coming, else she wouldn't have been so tense before.

"You and Dudley will be at risk."

"What could Voldemort possibly want with us? And how in the world could he find us there?"

"Petunia, of course he would be interested in you, and do not start underestimating magic now!" Severus growled.

"I'm not! I'm not a silly muggle, Severus! I've thought this through! You can simply tell Voldemort you've seen Harry at Grimmuald Place- or at Hogwarts for that matter! It really doesn't matter as long as he knows he's in a place he can't reach him and stops actively looking for him- and us."

Severus paused. "Dumbledore is securing you a property, though. Why not simply wait for it?"

"Where? Here?"

Severus gave a curt, tight-lipped nod.

"Hah! Severus, I know you. You don't like house guests anymore than I like being one..."

After a moment of actually registering what he'd said, she flung her hands into the air. "I like being a charity case even less!" Petunia stood up, now starting to feel rather angry indeed. "You can tell Dumbledore I certainly will not be accepting any property from him! I'm a grown woman, and I can take care of myself and my family! I'm not going to take pity or handouts! I can't recall the last time I was insulted so thoroughly!" she cried in outrage.

Petunia paced back and forth around the corner of the coffee table three times, and when she turned back the fourth time, Severus was on his feet, catching either of her arms in his hands and stilling her. He knew if he was going to make her see things his way he best level with her: being a proud man himself, he recognized how difficult it was for her to take help.

"Petunia, I am deeply invested in this war- and in the safety and well-being of you, you son, and nephew- but you are acting irrationally. I'm afraid you've insulted me, too. I would not offer to have you here if it was something I did not want."

"Oh, I see, you _want_ me here?" Petunia asked, wincing a little at her own sarcasm, but it was better tan scoffing. His voice had changed pitch a little, and she knew something was off.

"Is it so hard to believe?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Petunia said. She shook her head, momentarily confused, but she soon pushed away the oddness of his claim, and focused on the real matter at hand. "It has nothing to do with that, though. I am a grown woman, and I want to- _need _to- take care of myself, especially considering I've just separated from my husband. I need time to figure what it is to be self-sufficient again. Please understand. You aren't going to stop me, and neither is Dumbledore."

Severus's face darkened, and he dropped his hands, feeling inexplicably stung and angry at himself for it. He didn't need to put himself out there if he was only going to have it thrown back in his face.

"Very well," he said, voice deep and rolling. There was a moment in which they looked at each other, attempting to communicate through eye contact alone- Severus that this was not for the best, and Petunia that she needed this. Abruptly, when it became quite apparent that neither was prepared to relinquish at_ all_, he turned away and went from the room, wondering what the point had been in forcing Vernon to refuse the divorce other than the fat man's safety; he really didn't see anything wrong with the Dark Lord killing him now, considering the danger he had put them all in- put Petunia in. That oaf didn't deserve safety- most especially at 'Tunia's expense. He truly hadn't expected her to react the way she did, and he had a sinking feeling Dumbledore wasn't going to disagree with her 'solution' much._ If only, _he thought, _I had no respect for her rights and could force her to take Dumbledore's property the way I forced Vernon to remain married to her... If only I did not have a conscience about tossing Vernon up for slaughter... _

_This is precisely why... involvement is bad. It is not my place to weigh the value of a person's life. All I must do is keep everyone as safe as I possibly can. No remorse,_ he reminded himself.

In the living room, Petunia sighed and dropped back onto the sofa.

That was not how she had wanted that to go, but, she frowned, she knew she wasn't wrong.

xxx

Severus avoided Petunia the next little while, and Petunia avoided him, too.

She almost thought it alarming how little he proved to know himself if he thought he was being honest before. If he _was _being honest Severus had changed quite a lot more than she initially thought, and if not, well... That couldn't have been a _real_ attempt at lying to her about wanting her to stay: she hadn't believed it for a second; Severus was more skilled at deception than that.

If _she_ knew for a fact that _he_ would not be able to tolerate them in his house and also that he had _not_ been lying (simply because the lie had been too pathetic to be real) then the only thing which followed was that... He was severely confused.

Petunia, in all honesty, avoided him because she was afraid if she spent too much time with him, she might actually consider staying, or at least have to own up to the fact that she _wanted_ Severus to _want_ her to stay- whether she would or not. Instead of acknowledging this, she told herself she was avoiding him because she didn't want to argue.

It was a full day they went without so much as making eye contact, and the day after that Petunia had her things together, Dudley his, and she called walked to into town to the nearest car rental and drove back to Snape Manor. Not an hour before the time she had set for their departure, she went down to his library to find him reading in the same armchair he had been the day after he had brought her there. He set aside his book and rearranged his teaching robes around him as he shifted to face her.

"What time are leaving?"

"In an hour."

Severus nodded thoughtfully. He did not ay anything.

"Severus, I really have to thank you, for all that you've done- for me and my family." Petunia sat then too, smoothing out her yellow skirt a bit as she did so. "At first I was a little skeptical, but I am glad to be reacquainted with you, Severus... I was wondering: will I still see you after this? And, please, don't worry about my sensibilities; I can handle myself. I am more interested in you being honest- and being comfortable with that, of course."

"'Tunia, I never have and never will think you a weak woman, and even if I did I am cold and rude enough to tell people what they do not want to hear without the fear of remorse. Realize that you are underestimating me as much as you believe me to be underestimating you."

"Severus," Petunia countered in blase tone (because it rather _was_ a blase topic to her so firm was she in her convictions), "You are not a monster, you are a Slytherin... While you may be cold and rude in your demeanor, inside you do care about people because you understand them, if nothing else. There is no doubt in my mind that you accommodate other people's needs. In fact- don't think I missed it- you responded to my question with a non-sequitur just now."

Severus sighed heavily. "You always seem intent upon analyzing me."

"You're an interesting man, Severus Snape."

"Oh, joy. Just what I've always wanted," Severus drawled sarcastically, and it was Petunia's turn to roll her eyes- rather blatantly at that. Severus smirked. "I _am _a bitter old man, Petunia. I would love to believe you when you say I'm not, but it is the truth. There is no harm in admitting it."

Petunia laughed. "Well, you may have convinced yourself, but you will not convince me. People who suffer do become bitter, that I acquiesce; but those who do not become bitter become kind. Your actions bespeak a kind man- a _very _kind man- not a bitter one. Bitter men do not fight for people knowing they will never be deemed by them as heros."

Severus did not bother to reply; he simply regarded the woman before him with smoldering black eyes. She was the strangest woman he had ever met, and- dare he think it?- the most caring, too. How could she, a woman who had not seen him in nearly two decades, still have faith in him? He often fancied himself the darkest man on Earth after the Dark Lord. He didn't expect anyone to pay him mind, but Petunia did more than that. She held his banner. She was practically marching out into the battlefield holding _his _banner. Severus smirked at the image of Petunia confronting the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters, censuring them for their maltreatment of him.

"Do you pity me? Is that why you feel the need to be my fearsome defender, my loyal protector?"

"You know the answer to that."

It was true, he considered. Severus believed her to act out of respect and lingering friendship and that was agreeable to him; pity was not something he desired. He did not acknowledge it consciously, though (Petunia's true regard for him), because he knew what the consequences of finding himself attached were, but it made him feel light hearted, more optimistic than he had felt in years, and _that_ felt _good_- to have something to smile about, which he did just then. Petunia smiled back, lifting her brows, too, because she did not per se know what they were smiling about.

"I shouldn't see you again, 'Tunia," Severus replied eventually. His smile had gone, and hers then did, too.

"_Shouldn't_- and _won't?_" She tried not to look to hopeful lest she pressure him, after all, she had asked him to be up front and honest.

Severus simply shook his head, frowning in thought.

"...Perhaps infrequently, to assure all is well."

"I would like that," Petunia said softly. She picked a brown piece of lint off her white blouse.

For now it would have to be enough, but she knew that- even if they could never resume their friendship- she had to somehow make him see that his life was worth more than this, so very much more. If he died... Petunia sucked in a breath. If he died she would be- _livid. _She was nearly raging just thinking about it.

"What is it?" he asked, alarmed, and already beginning to sit up.

"Oh, nothing," she said immediately.

"Really, 'Tunia? Wouldn't it be easier if we simply had a full disclosure policy between us?"

"Or perhaps a respect privacy policy?" She sighed heavily when Severus gave her an unyielding look. "I am angry that you are willing to give up your life. I am angry that there are men who would take it."

Severus blinked, the light heartedness being replaced with the clenching, twisting feeling of grief. He had thought to detach in order to protect his position in the war, but he was seeing now that perhaps Petunia was already attached enough to feel some turmoil when he died. _It follows,_ he thought, _If she cares to have me in her life, then what else might I expect?_ He wanted to, but he knew he could not reassure her in anyway.

"Thank you... Come." He stood and offered her his hand. "Let us have lunch before we part ways."

_xxx_

Harry was already at the table when the two entered, frowning over a bit of his notes. When he heard their voices approaching he looked up, surprised to see the adults hand in hand, though they released each other as soon as they saw him there.

"Professor," Harry said; he felt awkward the minute he saw him, and it only reinforced his desire to address what had happened before- albeit not in too much detail, and having Aunt Petunia there served just that purpose. "Er- Sorry. About before, I mean." Once he had calmed down, he'd found that he _did_ regret his words. It was true that the Professor and he were a lot alike; that was a point in the other man's favor. He also realized it was sort of insulting to be told he was no different than those who had tormented him; Harry didn't like the idea of anyone telling him he was like Draco Malfoy. Even more, beyond the content of what he had said, the tone and the blatant instigation... Harry had a hard time imagining he'd said what he'd said, but the _way _he had said it? Bloody hell. It was testament to how forgiving Snape really was that he hadn't hexed Harry right then and there.

"It's forgotten." Severus waved a hand through the air, to Harry's further surprise. Severus really did not take any lasting offense at the incident. He recalled a time or two when he was younger, when all had gone wrong for him, and he had taken it out on whom he had thought to be the nearest trustworthy person. He had done as much with Lily, and she had walked away- right out of his life forever. _He would not do the same_.

Harry grinned, and the adults took a seat (Petunia looking curiously at Severus, who only shook his head). Pockey appeared and confirmed they were looking for lunch, and when Petunia asked him to fetch Dudley, he told them he was kitchens helping prepare anyway, but that Pockey would ensure he was at the table when lunch was ready.

Which is exactly what he did. Pockey sat at the table with them, too, though he didn't eat anything.

When it was time to go, Severus and Harry followed Petunia and Dudley to the door, where Pockey had brought their bags. The goodbyes were awkward and stiff, and no one said much of anything. Between Severus and Petunia there was a nod, she tucked Harry into her side and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead, and Pockey received a pat to the head. Dudley thanked the Professor and shook his hand, bumped chests with Harry in a man-hug, and like his mother patted Pockey's head when the elf came up to give him a quick embrace around the knees.

"Bye then," Dudley said, turning and carrying their bags to the car.

"Take care of yourselves," Petunia said.

"You as well," Severus replied, and then they were gone.

_xxx_

When Dudley felt his mother poking him in the arm he let out a loud grumble, and swatted her hand away.

"We're here," Petunia said. That caught Dudley's attention; he was eager to get to Aunt Marge's. His mother had been bothering him the whole way there. He had no idea why, except he thought that maybe she was concerned about him getting attached to life at the Professor's because she kept saying things like, _You'll make new friends._

Dudley didn't really like to admit it because it made him no better than the losers he picked on in school (and if he was no different then them, it made his remorse even more)... He had thought once there was something abnormal about them that they didn't want to be around other people, but now that he thought about it, he was growing quieter and quieter the older he got. Could he even be called boisterous or loud anymore? Pierce's mom had even commented once that he had mellowed out... Dudley didn't know what to think of that. Maybe he was still a little immature, he thought, but he certainly didn't throw tantrums like he used to; the old Dudley might have whined and complained on the way to Aunt Marge's, but now he was inclined to sit in silence, watching the countryside come and go from out the window until he fell asleep- which he did, but only for a short time.

Soon they were driving up the lane to Aunt marge's home, wheel tracks in the grass off the paved road, behind a cluster of trees to big to be just a copse; Dudley suspected there had once been a forest there. The house sat in a field of sorts (bordering the woods and the open land, that is), at the base of a hill, and a few other houses were spotted here and there in the distance too far to wont for any sort of property line; a raggedy wire fence surrounded her acres of property, nothing more that to keep her animals near by.

Dudley sat up, the rental car jostling and bouncing, and said, "Looks like the caretaker is here," when he caught sight of a truck parked just in front of the country home; it was the same red colour that the wood paneling on the house had been painted, only in much worse condition- covered with patches of orange rust.

"Willy," Aunt Petunia provided. She expected there to be a chorus of barking as she brought the car to a halt, but it was dead quiet. "He must be feeding them out back," she said to Dudley, as they both climbed out of the car.

"I'll get the bags." Dudley opened the back seat door and slung a bag over either shoulder and handled the suitcase, kicking the car door closed and glancing at his mother's back as she went around the porch and disappeared behind the side of the house. He heaved the luggage up the stair case, dropping the bags with a rattling thunk on the wood planks of the porch when he noticed the front door was slightly ajar.

"Willy?" Dudley asked, pushing it open. The house was dark inside, and he leaned over the threshold for a look around before taking all but three steps in. There wasn't anybody or any signs of life.

"Willy?" he called again, quieter than the last time. The house was still. Too still. Dudley took a step back, ready to get out, and that was when a hand closed around his mouth, and a hot wand tip pressed to his temple.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Petunia didn't realize until she was half way around the house that the quiet at Aunt Marge's extended beyond just the absence of barking of dogs; there were no birds, no bugs, not even the trees rustled. Not one sign of life. Her heart was beginning to pound, but she told herself that there was no reason to be frightened. She didn't precisely know that there was any danger- until she rounded the back edge of the house.

She muffled a scream, stumbling back and ducking behind the corner of the wall and then, shaking, she forced herself to look again.

In the middle of a mass of furry bodies and blood was Willy, torn and ripped, laying spread eagle, his mouth a dark cavity in which was pooled the deepest and thickest red; his belly had been opened and his intestines and organs had been pulled out; his clothes were not distinguishable, his limbs shredded and body bloodied along with what were surely denim pants and a flannel shirt (that was all Willy had ever worn). There was fur stuck in the blood, too, and black bite marks and claw marks riddled his flesh. Petunia could hardly look away enough to examine the dogs... It looked as though they had attacked him, and judging by the shovel one had lodged in its skull, Willy had defended himself. Though there was only one or two with injuries such as these. The rest looked like they had been killed with magic, and she had no doubt magic was what had turned them on Willy to begin with.

Petunia tore herself away, laying her back flat against the house, her heart pounding wildly in her chest, to the point that it hurt her, and she could feel her stomach seizing and un-seizing as her mind raced from thought to halting thought, images of bodies and blood between them, of who had done this, why they had done this, and-

_Dudley_.

Petunia turned and ran to the front of the house, stopping just before the edge of the house.

_Please let him be okay! Please let my baby be okay!_

Petunia held her breath for fear of making a sound as she looked around the corner. Dudley was not there, and then she noticed the open door to the house and the darkness inside; she should have known... the curtains were _never _drawn. She glanced above her head at the pink fabric behind the glass, and it was a good thing the house was elevated (the basement below), else whoever was inside would see her shadow in the window.

_Severus, _she thought. But how could she get to him? She couldn't leave: _her son was in there_. They would hurt him- kill him even!

She looked about wildly for something- anything, even looking to the sky in the hopes that an owl would swoop down, and she could get a message to someone, but there was nothing. Petunia's shaking hands fumbled with the clasp on her purse as she fought to get it open, dumping the contents on the ground: keys (which she stopped from jingling with a hand over them), lip balm, her cards, some cash, receipts, and a mint from the last time she had gone out to a restaurant with her friends. Petunia slammed her hand on the ground in angry desperation, one of them landing next to a rather large rock. She picked it up, considering how futile this was...

_What choice do I have? I'll never make it out of here! _She glanced at the car parked in the drive. And she _wouldn't _leave her son.

Throwing her keys and cards and money back in her purse, Petunia got up and snuck around the back of the house, adrenaline pumping through her veins that she was so aroused she didn't falter as she approached the bloody mess, grabbing and trying to loose the shovel from the dogs skull. She whimpered when it would not come, her stomach tingling with the urge to convulse again and simply let all her food go- but she didn't have time. She braced a foot on the dogs neck and pulled hard, the shovel quickly coming lose this time. She stumbled back, looking down at her bloodied sandal and then turned on her heal and chucked the rock in her hand through one of the back windows.

As soon at she heard glass shattering and the thump of the rock landing on the other side she bolted to the right, grabbing swooping to grab another rock she spotted in the grass and throwing that, too, in one swift motion; then she turned and sprinted into the woods, the shovel smearing blood all over her hands and clothes as she ran to circle round the front of the house. Before she lost her line of sight, she stopped and turned to see there were several men in black cloaks pooling out of the house and onto the back porch, languidly looking from side to side- for _her_.

It was the most terrifying sight Petunia had ever witnessed, and it only had her more afraid for her son's life.

She turned and went quietly towards the front of the house, sneaking up the front steps as quietly and as quickly as she could, gently kicking open the door, wielding the shovel like a bat. Dudley was bound and gagged and standing before the far wall, his eyes widening when he caught sight of her before looking to the corner behind the door with raised brows. Petunia got the message. She lunged the rest of the way into the house and at once swung the shovel as hard as she could, letting her body turn with it. A clang and thump rang out across the quiet property as the figure who'd stepped out from the shadow dropped to the ground along with the shovel from Petunia's grip.

She ran to Dudley, grabbing the ropes around his hands before yanking him forward and out the door. She was too afraid to look back or to acknowledge the sound of the back door opening again and foot steps coming towards them. She had already fumbled for and found the key in her purse and gotten the driver door open when the cloaked figures lined up on the front deck, their masks glinting in the daylight from inside their shadowed hoods. Petunia instantly knew she had not made it.

One of them stepped forward. Then there was a newfound breeze, as if to mirror the shiver running down her spine. She watched his long white-blond hair catch and sway one way, hanging outside of his hood and mask. He looked like some sort of reaper.

"How terribly rude of you, Mrs. Dursley," he said. She could hear the smile in his voice.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Petunia did not know where they were taken, but after the blindfolds, gags, and ropes had bound her there was the familiar sensation of apparating. She was thrown into a cell, and with the door closing she was sealed in silence; immediately she set to work freeing herself of her restraints. All that she accomplished was hurting her fingernails as she clawed uselessly at the ropes; she wasn't surprised when they didn't give- they were wizard knots, after all. That left her to her thoughts: a prospect much worse than futilely trying to untie herself.

She was overwrought with worry for Dudley; afraid; still in shock from what she had done (tried to do) and failed; and she'd gag whenever thoughts of Willy, mangled and lifeless, came back to her. She wasn't given much time in her hyper-ventaltive state, though. The cell door came open again, heavily creaking. Her mind went blank, and she tensed as heavy foot steps crossed the floor to her. Then she was torn from the ground painfully by the ropes.

"The Dark Lord will see you now," a voice laughed evilly before abruptly losing all its humor: "You filthy muggle bitch." The man dragged her from the room, and Petunia could hear more footsteps, the sound of more stumbling and shuffling, and a muffled, but unmistakable voice.

_Dudley!_

"Um hm!" _I'm here!_

"Mmm!" Dudley called to her, and Petunia could feel the fight in her dying. This could not be happening- but _it was_.

She followed obediently, presumably to another room across a hallway if the breeze and then the stillness of the air were any indication of her changing environment. Abruptly thrust to her knees on a hard stone floor, her holler of pain was met with laughter. The next instant Petunia's bindings and blindfold fell away, and she blinked in the dark room. There were a few men, most in the same Death Eater garb, around the perimeter. The thought that Severus had ever stood among them made her sick; the thought that he could be there now made her even more sick. If what she thought was about to happen happened, Severus was in grave danger. She crawled over and tucked Dudley under her arm where he was sitting on his backside, his restraints also pooled around him now. He was looking wide-eyed at the man sitting on the makeshift throne before them, but Petunia refused to look up: she only had eyes for Dudley.

"I am so happy to see you," the Dark Lord said, and Petunia could feel the tremble that ran through her son's body. She leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss to his temple- to the same place the wand had been pointed though she did not know it.

"Dudley and... Petunia." She could hear his bare feet smacking quietly against the ground as he rose and strode towards them.

"Won't you look at me, Petunia? I want to see if you share the same eyes as Lily and her son." Petunia let out a strangled noise as her face was turned against her will with magic, and when she still would not look into his red glowing eyes, he chuckled. Then he turned to Dudley, and she _did _look at him.

"Please-" she was silenced with a wave of his hand.

"And you..." he bent a little as he looked into Dudley's face. "You have your father's eyes."

Dudley's voice shook, but he drew on his courage- though his bravery in this case was more a result of ignorance than anything else- asking, "H-How would you know?"

Voldemort smiled, displaying his predatory-sharp teeth.

"How indeed?" He turned on his heel, his robes spinning out and around him, and crossed the room only to sink languidly back into his throne. "Bring the body forward," he ordered one of his lackeys.

There was a terrible sweeping sound, and Petunia turned away in horror, her hand sneaking around the back of Dudley's head and pulling to hide his face in the hollow of her neck; he was shaking uncontrollably by the time the sweeping got loud enough that the body was in view, and Petunia could not help herself: she looked.

"_Vernon_-" she choked. Dudley reflexively tried to look, but Petunia held firm.

He was not externally damaged to a great extent, but Petunia could tell that he had been heavily damaged internally. There was blood leaking from his nose and ears, and his eyes were frozen surprised, as if he hadn't expected the mental torment, but there were few bruises and scratches here and there. Even still, this was much more horrifying to Petunia then when she had found Willy. This was her husband, not some stranger, and this was what Voldemort was about to do to them- to her_ son_.

"You see, my followers brought him to me yesterday- the first time Vernon ventured out of the house since you left. I was surprised he was left there by whoever has been protecting you; it was foolish to think I'd have no interest in him... Mind you when I asked him where you had gone, but he would not tell me- _could _not tell me- as it turns out." Voldemort tapped the side of his head with distinct pleasure. "It seems that his memories were altered after you escaped Privet Drive. I was highly disappointed to learn this. And so it was that I searched his mind for likely places you may have gone. It was really just luck, you know, Petunia, that you showed up when you did. My subordinates were sweeping the house when you arrived. An hour later and they would have been long gone."

Petunia felt her stomach turn. This was all her fault. If she hadn't pushed to leave Severus's house...

"Things tend to fall into place rather nicely, don't they?" Voldemort said, pleased. "Well now, all that's left is for you to tell me where Harry is."

Petunia shook her head despairingly.

"Petunia, you cannot hide anything from me, you know this. However, there is a certain amount of gratification in having the _confession_. I can break you, and seeing as I am in no great hurry..."

"I won't tell you anything," Petunia assured him.

"Very well," Voldemort said, accepting her word. "Bring her forward."

Two men came up on either side of them, and Petunia squeezed Dudley before letting him go- only for him to cling to her. "No, mum!" he whispered desperately, refusing to look anywhere but at her, now fearful of laying eyes on his father or Voldemort. Petunia was too afraid of what would come out if she tried to speak, so she simply pulled away. It seemed like only a moment had passed and Petunia was in the most excruciating pain of her life, and with such a simple word on the lips of just one man (it had seemed so harmless those years ago when it had been Lily and Severus talking about unforgivable curses: the _cruciatus_). She was holding onto the thought of Dudley, Harry, and Severus, and Lily and Vernon with everything she had, but she could feel her sanity pulling away from her: under the curse she could no longer hold a thought of her own direction. Then it was over and she was breathing hard, laying face down on the stone floor with tears and snot running from her face. Tremors wracked her body as her mind slowly came back to her.

"This is only a taste of what is to come, Petunia."

Voldemort was not lying... The cruciatus ended, he pointed out, and that's what he _didn't _like about it, and so he alternated between breaking her body in more permanent ways, and casting the curse on her until her throat, from screaming, was more painful than the whip materializing at the end of his wand that opened her skin and flesh from the lashing or from when the same whip had wrapped around her fingers with magic and with a yank upwards had broken them, one by one... _Petunia_ was breaking, just as he wished.

She had to wonder what the point was in any of this. Why suffer when he was just going to take the information from her anyway? The only reason she hadn't surrendered yet, she realized belatedly, was because her throat was in so much pain she was hardly breathing.

"You have the same will as your nephew, Petunia," Voldemort eventually said. "I wonder if you have the same heart." He flicked his hand behind her and Petunia with the strongest dread she had ever experienced, watched as Dudley was dragged forward and dumped beside her, shaking as if he were about to fall to pieces before her eyes.

"I won't ask Dudley, Petunia. That would be too_ easy_. I want to break _you._" Petunia shuddered, opening her mouth, but still her voice would not come, as if a sword made of fire had been sheathed in her throat.

"_Crucio!_" Dudley writhed and screamed, his eyes rolling up into the back of his eyes.

"_No!_" Petunia screamed, but it was no more than a strangled cry, her esophagus ripping.

Voldemort held on a little longer, but then he jerked his wand up and Dudley lay still.

Petunia stared wide-eyed at her son, shuddering with each breath.

"What was that?" Voldemort asked.

Petunia opened her mouth, but no words would come; she simply nodded her head.

"Very well." Voldermort smirked as he rose from his throne and walked to Petunia, grasping her chin with his long-fingered hand. She raised her eyes to his and then she felt like ice water was being poured over her as Voldemort shoved into her mind.

_You know what happens next_, he said.

_xxx_

Author's Note:

-I'm not going to put violence warnings anymore, except I think I _should_ for the next chapter because the mental assault is not really about legilimency, and I don't know if there are some of you who will be uncomfortable with it. If you are, or you just don't know what the hell I'm talking about, I encourage you to take the story at face value.

-The next chapter is the last one full of torture and violence for awhile, and I shall update soon. ^^


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note:

-It's been a long time so I will put an Author's Note here to remind you of the warnings for this chapter! Additional notes are at the bottom.

(-Oh, and I'm using occulmency in a sort of different way, so it isn't entirely canon. I am aware of that.)

Chapter 13

Dudley was dragged from the room when Voldemort let go of Petunia; she sat there like a zombie, boneless and held up with magic. He cried out and protested at the top of his lungs, but it wasn't enough. Across the hall he was thrown into his cell again, but the man who had dragged him there- a tall and bulky man with a dirty brown beard- followed him in.

"I like burns the most because they hurt forever. Cutting and bone breaking, and all the rest- that stuff is easy to get used to," he explained to Dudley. He gestured with the metal stake he had picked up off the table outside the room, and Dudley tried not to cower on the floor. Then he cast some spell or another- Dudley didn't know- and one end of the metal glowed orange, burning an imprint on Dudley's retinas that he knew would never forget. He breathed heavily trying to crawl back and back as the man stepped forward, grinning.

_xxx_

Petunia knew now the pain that Vernon must have known; she was screaming, crying, kicking, writhing inside, and outwardly she could not move or speak or even look away from the horrible red eyes bearing down on her. Her mind- everything she was- was being picked apart with a fine tooth comb. She was laid bare before him and unable to hide one thing; if only the pain would stop she might be able to process feeling so violated. Of course it didn't take Voldemort long to find her memories of Severus, and that was when he got vicious, tearing into her with renewed fury. If she'd thought it was painful _before_, she was mistaken. Now he was no longer looking for anything- he knew Harry had gone to Grimmuald Place, and that Petunia did not know where that was- he was doing this just to cause her pain.

_I'll kill him, _he raged enable, even, to specify who. His anger was scorching her mind, and she was only half aware of the explosions around them as he threw curse after curse around the room, injuring- if not killing- several Death Eaters in the near vicinity and wrecking the stonework.

Petunia whimpered mentally, no where left to hide inside her head. Everything had been wrecked there, too, and she would give anything for this to end. She would give anything to have prevented this. She didn't want to recover from this, even if she could. The devastation and pain were to great; she wanted to sink into nothingness.

At this Voldemort's laughter rang out shrill and loud as he lashed out at her again in the same way as before, opening her cheek to the bone and ignoring the bloodcurdling scream they shared.

_xxx_

Harry had been seated in one of the wing back chairs in the library at Grimmuald Place with an occulmency book open in his lap when the pain struck him, and his hand flew to his forehand, the book sliding off his lap and onto the floor with a thunk.

Harry gasped, but there was no one around to hear him; there was no one at Number 12 just then besides Kingsley and Harry hadn't a clue where in the house he was. The pain was so intense he writhed out of his chair and right onto the ground beside his book, trying to get away form his own forehead. A shaking hand felt his scar for blood while his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

_Occulde, occulde, occulde_, he told himself, but he couldn't- he wasn't even sure if he wanted too. His vision darkened and then faded, he was no longer moving and thrashing about. He was standing in a dark room and he- Voldemort- was laughing maniacally, before with a wave and snap of his wand a whip sailed out, whistling and then cracking as it struck a woman sitting slumped on the floor before them.

_Aunt Petunia! _Harry felt his body back at Grimmuald Place violently jerk when he realized the bloody woman his aunt, and it was enough to pull him halfway out of Voldemort's mind. Then the library was darkening again, and Harry was looking down at Voldemort's arm as he brandished his wand to just below the crook of his elbow on the other and magic pulsed through the tip.

_Your filthy halfblood lover will come Petunia, and when he does I will kill him. You will watch Severus Snape die, and then you will watch your son die, and then I will kill-_

Harry wrenched himself the rest of the way out of Voldemort's mind.

_He's calling the Professor, and I have to stop him from going! Voldemort has Aunt Petunia and Dudley! _Harry's mind was racing a mile a minute, and he was forcing himself to his feet, struggling against the pain splitting apart his skull. Snape was certainly not among the stranglers at Grimmuald Place; he'd just left a few hours ago after an occulmency lesson with Harry, and he'd said he'd be brewing, so the Professor must be at home. He couldn't floo to Snape Manor because of the wards, there was no time for an owl, and no one else knew where Snape Manor was. Only he did, but he didn't know how to apparate. Harry was already stumbling from the room, then down the stairs, and pulling open the front door of Grimmuald Place, through the yard and past the wards so that he was standing in the middle of the street. His mind was clear, an image of the lane outside of Snape's home in his mind, and with a twist he was curshed down, spinning, and being squeezed like he had his own tremendous gravity, but the pressure seemed to localize in the wrong place, and the next thing Harry knew his loud scream was being pulled away and wrapped around in the spinning,. Then abruptly, it sounded a great deal less intense and altogether closer. Pain had erupted in his left side, and he looked down, shaking, at the deep gashes slicing across his stomach and hip and thigh. He couldn't feel them properly because his scar was hurting so badly, but it was still painful, and frightening to look at. Blood was already beginning to soak into the gravel at his feet, but at least he'd made it.

"Shit," Harry cursed. He just had to tell Snape now, before he lost consciousness. At least he wouldn't miss him, if he hadn't already answered the call: Snape would have to come this same way to apparate away.

Harry took a step forward and cried out; he felt biling rising in the back of his throat, but his stomach was already void from earlier. _I have to, _he told himself, taking another small step, and then another, until he had made it just a few short feet.

"_Potter!_" Harry looked up at the thundering black figure of Professor Snape as he came running down the drive to grab hold of Harry. "What the bloody hell are you doing here? Did you apparate?! You foolish boy!"

Harry gritted between his teeth, "You can't go. Voldemort knows." Snape had lifted Harry right off the ground and was carrying him back to the Manor, trying to mind his wounds.

"_What!_"

"He has Aunt Petunia and Dudley."

"Potter, are you sure?"

Harry nodded vehemently. "He couldn't have made that up. I've never seen him or felt him so angry before."

Harry tried not to notice the way the Professor's lips thinned.

"_Shit!_" Severus cursed.

When they were inside the house, Snape lay him gently on the sofa, waving his wand and summoning a number of potions which he began to uncork and thrust at Harry's mouth with urgent commands of, "Drink!"Pockey appeared in, as well, and was conversing with the Professor in tones too low and murmuring for Harry to follow in his distracted state. The elf swapped out for the Professor then, giving Harry the last two of five potions and then wrapped his wounds while Snape took a potion of his own and paced back and forth across the living room, kneading his arm.

"Aunt Petunia and Dudley- we have to do something- now! He's torturing her," Harry cried. He could hardly think with his forehead aching, and he groaned- not for the first time- thrashing weakly where he lay.

"Harry, I will get them back, but you must occulde your mind!"

"I'm trying!"

"Well, you're doing a poor job of it! Remember what I told you. Relax, breathe, don't concentrate on anything- let your mind settle."

"If I try to let my mind settle I'll get sucked back in before I can put up a defense."

"You won't. This is why you are never able to occulde. You have to be certain of what you are doing. You have to trust yourself."

"But I don't-"

"_I_ trust you. I believe you can occulde your mind."

Harry didn't have an answer for that, but before he even knew what he was doing, he'd let go of the hold he had on his body though it was the most unnatural and gut-wrenching feeling he'd ever experienced, and then everything was going black. Apparently the Professor could see him struggling because from the couch edge (though it seemed much farther than that) Harry could hear him say, "Letting go is the hardest part. Now relax."

Harry breathed, letting himself forget about the aching pain in his forehead or the fact that the Professor was in grave danger, and then- the hardest of all- he let go the knowledge that Aunt Petunia and Dudley were facing the worst horror he could imagine and could be dead by now. _It's not selfish,_ Harry told himself, _I need this to save them._

Harry was trying to let go, but the more he tried, the worse it became, and he could feel Voldemort getting close to him.

"Don't force it, Harry. Relax," he could hear Snape in the distance, and he felt a large hand on his arm, squeezing. Harry focused his attention there as all other thoughts left him; then it was just a matter of forgetting the hand on his arm, which was easier than forgetting about Aunt Petunia and Dudley. Harry released the breath he had been holding, and in an instant his mind was clear.

He blinked as the world came back into focus. His mind was suddenly under his control, and Harry was able to make the choice to push his connection with Voldemort out of his focus, and then the pain dropped off, and Harry touched his forehead in mild shock- mostly he didn't feel anything though.

"I-" he looked over at Snape and Pockey, but realized they had both stopped paying him mind. Severus was crouched down and looking very seriously at Pockey in front of Harry on the sofa, still holding onto Harry's arm, but facing the other way.

"-Yes, Master." Pockey nodded once.

"What's going on?" Harry interrupted. "How are we going to get Aunt Petunia and Dudley back?" he asked, sitting up.

Pockey turned to him, looking nothing like the exuberant elf he normally did.

"Pockey will bring Misses and Dudley."

"What-" Harry began to ask, but Pockey was gone.

"I don't understand!" he exclaimed. "How-"

"House elves are not restricted by wards the way humans are. Think of the hogwarts house elves."

"Why hasn't anyone thought of this before?!"

"Though they do not face the same restrictions as us, that does not mean they face no restrictions at all. They cannot do harm by a human, and they cannot interfere with the affairs of anyone other than their masters. Pockey could no more poison Voldemort's food than Voldemort could have one of his house elves abduct you. For whatever reason though, Pockey has come to think of you, Petunia, and Dudley as my family, therefore he's able to bring them from the Dark Lord's dungeons. Another is that if Pockey goes to retrieve them and another house elf is to keep them there, then their orders are at odds, and that means they will have to fight, but that is just a formality. They will end up killing each other because neither can break their laws without the ultimate punishment. The punishment you normally see is mild payment for a mild transgression, but these are not considered mild transgressions, and the only way to pay for them is for them to forfeit their lives."

"What?! You can't send him!"

"It was Pockey's decision. He cares about Dudley a great deal."

Harry's scar was starting to hurt again, and he raised the arm Snape was not holding to cup his foredead.

"Are you losing focus, Harry?" Snape asked, his grip tightening.

He nodded, squinting.

"Look at me. I'll cast legillimens to reinforce your shields."

"Professor, he's really angry," Harry said before being swept up in the current of Snape's dark eyes.

_xxx_

Dudley was breathing deeply his vision swimming in and out as the poker was withdrawn again, a dent on his upper arm where the flat of it had been pushed into his flesh. He could smell it and it would have made him sick if he weren't half unconscious.

The man standing above him laughed.

_No_, Dudley protested in his mind.

His legs were shaking, but he determinedly pushed himself up the wall, using it as support.

"Got a little fight left, have you?" the wizard asked. He turned to grab a chain hooked on the wall, and while his back was turned, Dudley lunged- staggered- forward. He could hardly see anything, and when he lifted his arm he cried out in renewed anguish- a battle cry- as he collided with the wizard.

"Fuck!" the man cried as Dudley took him to the ground. He immediately turned the poker inward so it was once again sitting on Dudley's arm, and he was trying to roll away limply, a silent howl tearing through him, when suddenly the weight from on top of him disappeared and the poker hit the ground with a clatter. Dudley opened his eyes just in time to see the man hit the far wall from a nameless blow, and collapse to the ground unconscious. He swiveled his head around.

"Pockey!" he cried, reaching out a hand to his friend. Pockey rushed forward, taking his large hand in his small one.

"Mr. Dudley! Pockey will take you home now. Pockey must get Misses!" The elf nodded, and then there was a pop and another and Dudley was dropping onto a sofa in Snape Manor; Pockey gone as soon as Dudley was down. He looked over to find Harry on the other sofa, shirtless and bandaged around the middle, and the Professor crouched next to them, both looking into the other's eyes.

Snape knew Dudley had entered the room, and he withdrew gently form Harry's mind, turning to him still perched on the sofa, and then standing and hurrying to him.

"Dudley!" Harry cried from behind, trying to get off the sofa without too much pain. Dudley immediately burst into tears as Harry crossed the room.

"He's hurting mom, and he killed dad! I thought I was going to die!" he sobbed behind his hands

Harry grabbed his shoulder firlmy while Snape twisted his arm around to look at his burn wound, sucking in a sympathetic breath.

"You are safe now, and your mother will be safe shortly," the Professor told him, waving his wand and summoning a small container of burn slave which he began to spread over Dudley's wound.

"It won't hurt for very much longer." Severus assured him. What he really wanted to ask was what state Petunia had been in when DUdley had seen her last.

"Professor-" Dudley began to say only they were interrupted by a pop, turning to find a grim faced Pockey standing next to a bloody and dazed Petunia sitting on the floor under the arch. Severus thrust the bottle at Harry and rushed over.

"Mom!"

"Thank you," Severus whispered, and nodded to Pockey as he crouched down and placed a hand on the Petunia's arm. Pockey simply looked at his master, until he heard a gasp and a cry behind him and he turned. Harry was hit again with the Dark Lord's rage again and was brought to his knees. The salve dropped from his hand and rolled away across the floor, Dudley looking up with fear.

"Harry, I can't help you right know. Try to shield your mind!" Severus shouted, but Harry could not hear, and the Professor was too busy casting spells on Petunia's wounds, and pouring potions into her mouth. "Pockey!" he shouted. "Dudley's wounds! There is nothing we can do to help Hary!"

The house elf rushed over to Dudley on the sofa, the salve flying to his open hand.

"Mister Dudley, is you being okay now?" Pockey asked.

"Pockey," Dudley said to the house elf, reaching out and taking one of his small hands again as Harry moaned and fought beside them on the floor, writhing as slowly. "T-Thank you! You saved our lives. You're the best friend-"

Dudley's words were suddenly cut off by a couple of pops, and suddenly two malevolent house elves flanked either side of Pockey where he stood.

"Master wishes to see you," one of them said. There was a tentative pause.

"What are you talking about!" Severus shouted, and panic was plain in his voice as he turned from his place beside the sofa again.

The house elves took either of Pockey's arms in their own, and he looked at the Professor with wide eyes, his ears back.

"Master?" he squeaked.

"Pockey! No-" Snape was clambering off the ground when the house elves apparated away, and both Harry and Dudley looked at him, at his stark white face as he stared into nothingness.

Dudley started sitting up. Severus let his head drop, his hair falling into and obscuring his face, and he turned away, focusing on treating Petunia. He cut her shirt off and after cleaning off her blood, magicked badages to wrap themselves around her. He lifted her into his arms then, and lay her on the sofa, ignoring the pop and thud as Pockey's body was dropped nearly where Petunia had just been, ignoring the muffled sobbing of Dudley and Harry as he sniffed and comforted his cousin. He felt dead inside, but he couldn't disappear just yet- Petunia needed help.

"_Legillimens,_" he whispered, burying his hand in her hair to support her head. Her mind was scattered and without any focus. There were thoughts everywhere, too many to make sense of and with no particular order; her sense of self was among the pieces. Voldemort's torture seemed the most jarring of all, tainting all else. Her pain seemed to reach out and form the backdrop against which all else sat, and the way the mind had been torn- it was in that same familiar way: Voldemort's claw marks. Severus silently pieced what he could of her memories and thoughts back together, one by one, stitching them as fast as he could without looking to deeply at them; he could only do so much before exhausting himself and the rest would need heal on its own with time. When he was finished, he pulled out to find Dudley and Harry had moved Pockey's body to the sofa, had covered him with a blanket, and were sitting on the floor with their backs against the couch, watching him.

Severus walked over and, tucking the blanket beneath Pockey's still form, he turned and called hoarsely, "Pocket." There was suddenly a very familiar looking house elf in the room.

"Maste-" His voice abruptly dropped off and his ears fell forward; it was clear he knew what was beneath the blanket. "Pockey?" he stepped foward tentatively, his large eyes starting to water rather severely. "Oh no, Pockey," he choked. Then he crumpled forward and started sobbing, Harry going forward to pat his back awkwardly.

"I am sorry," Severus said. He carried Pockey from the room, the sobbing Pocket, Harry, and Dudley following him out into the garden. Severus spelled a hole in the ground in which he carefully placed his friend. The earth was then replaced, and atop the grave Severus conjured a rock and carved into it's surface with his wand, Pockey's name. Scribed below: _Beloved House Elf, Dear Friend, and Brother._

_xxx_

Author's Note:

-I'm not going to lie... I kinda have lost interest in this story, haha. It's sort of wretched... Anyway, I may just put it on hiatus. I don't know. I will think about it. I have a couple more chapters written, though.

-Like I said, this is the last of the violence, I think. Sorry about killing Pockey off!

-Also, as the legilimency attack (at least for Petunia) is not actually about legilimency, her recovery follows the same trend.


End file.
